Misfile of the Dead
by GR138Legend
Summary: <html><head></head>In September of 2004, in a place where there is nothing more irritating than a Misfile, a second Misfile occurs. And this time it brings zombies... Contains strong language and violence. Please note that this is a reworking of a version posted to Napalm Luck Forum, but is significantly different. I can't say that I've enjoyed working with zombies, but... I'll leave it at that.</html>
1. Notes and Prologue

_**Misfile of the dead**_

_Initial drafter, genesis of **certain** original characters, plot elements for chapters 1 – 3 and creative editing by jim89_

_Author, extensive rewrites, restructuring, additional plot, re-plotting **and **editing by GR138Legend_

_The "Misfile" web-comic, and its characters and situations are copyright Chris Hazelton. The "High School of the Dead" manga, anime, characters and situations are, likewise, copyright of their respective rights holders, whomever they may be. They may not be used or reproduced commercially without permission. The use of these characters and situations is not to be construed as challenge to said copyright. They are merely adapted for this work of derivative non-commercial fan-fiction, from which the author derives no financial benefit._

_Set the Monday of_ _Misfile Volume 9 circa page 25_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

I know, I know. Why is this at the start, not at the end? _Let us get to the story!_ Well you'll be there soon; it's just further down the page. But first:

The basic plots from Chapters One, Two, Three and the prologue are originally by jim89.

However the Missi section, the Emily section from Chapter Two are exclusively mine, put in to bridge a gap when jim89's characters teleported all over the place.

Similarly the Sheriff's Department and Angie's sections, from Chapter Three, are also mine.

And the Ash, Saeko and Missi sections, from Chapter Three, are so different that they almost have no resemblance to their original, a lot of re-plotting here.

However onwards from Chapter Four it's _all_ mine. I had Chapters 3 – 11 of jim89's version to see if there was any plot lines that I wanted to pull into this story, _without_ breaking anything that was already written, nothing made the grade.

Structurally the first three chapters (and prologue) bear no resemblance to the original _two_ chapters that their plots are taken from. Look and compare them if you don't believe me, _if you dare._

Never tried the cocktail described in chapter two…

Originally there were links throughout the various sections involving the Misfile cast that pointed towards Chris Hazelton's excellent art, I haven't put them back in due to not knowing how on .

* * *

><p><span>A note on formatting<span>

Normal text is _italicised _for_ emphasis_;

_All thoughts are in italics, thoughts with more __**emphasis**__ are_ _**bolded **__as well._

Ash's arguing with herself is the exception to this rule: (there's always got to be one)

_One side is in italics with __**bolding**__ for __**emphasis**_;

**The other is bolded and then **_**italicised**_** for **_**emphasis**_.

* * *

><p><span>Thanks:<span>

To jim89 – for annoying me with the original premise, until I just rolled with it. And then for not getting in touch initially when it became obvious that I could no longer just clean it into a readable state! Hopefully you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed coming up with new parts to fit in to it, or replace what already existed.

To ShadowDragon8685 – for showing what is possible within the misfile-verse, providing inspiration and many nights curled up reading a good story.

To the patience of my little sister – cracking the female teenage psyche would have been impossible without you. The realism I brought to Missi, Emily and Rei is all thanks to you. …though you'll probably never read this.

And finally to Peacecraft, for creating an entire universe that I keep returning to and imaging stories within, you have my eternal gratitude.

* * *

><p><strong><span>A Prologue to the Madness<span>**

_Celestial Filling Depository_

In a small office, sitting in the fifth division of the heavenly filing department, was the office of the Angel Samuel, who considered himself director of the division, the notice on his door reads: _Relax_, the universe keeps track of _everything_.

Samuel though, was having a bad day. A _very_ bad day indeed.

_There's __**another**__ problem in Japan._

He had, of course, found a possible way to fix it. His preferred method was to add to a Person's file. They had free will, or choice, which meant their decisions, belonged to them alone. But, equally, by carefully crafting or _altering_ a personality you could change the direction of the decisions they had been inclined to. However, there _were_ limits to the effectiveness of either option. Hopefully that wouldn't be the case with this series of events, which, while it _could_ cause the end of the world, had a pitifully _minor_ point of origin.

_Typical_, he thought, _all it took to cause such a mess was two teenage girls changing their relationship._

But with Rumisiel on administrative leave, Samuel had been landed with the task of checking _everything_. To make it even worse, with Cassiel on leave, the intra-departmental overflow from the files was causing even more problems than usual, leaving him exhausted thanks to his _vastly_ increased workload_._

_It was bad enough when I had to cover every file for the people in Asia __**and**__ Africa. Japan __**alone**__ would have caused a migraine, in anything __**less**__ than the superior being that __**I**__ am, but to be __**'asked'**__ to cover both America and Europe __**as **__**well?**__ If things worked the way they __**should**__ it would be _so_ much __**easier**__._

But his plan was simple in its elegance: change the two girl's attraction values into the male range; that _in turn_ changes their relationship, which affect their actions towards one another along with their actions to those that they associate with; which, in turn, prevents the apocalypse from happening.

God had only _one_, _known_, policy: That earth and its inhabitants _must_ survive. It doesn't mean the humans on earth can't suffer in the meantime, but they _have_ to be preserved.

Everything else is _just_ a learning experience.

Thus, God does not like apocalypses; at least not the _unscheduled_ ones. He especially does not like _zombie_ apocalypses, which can never be anything _other_ than unscheduled.

But for now though, almost all that is left to do is for Samuel to put the files back and let the system adjust. For the moment though, the files for 'Rei Miyamoto' and 'Saeko Busujima' remain in his desk out-tray, waiting for his gopher to collect and return.

_With any _luck,_ this could mean that I can clock-out. Maybe even for a few hours… or do some departmental admin. It's starting to pile up __**alarmingly**__._

Wearing a happy smile, he reaches across his desk and drains the last his coffee and started chewing on the doughnut that had been on the small plate besides it, both of which had been on his desk for the past two weeks. He gave no reaction to the taste or texture of either.

_That reminds me; what's-his-name applied for vacation time. I'll let him know that we're too short handed_ _for now. Bernard? Bob?_ Squeak, rustle, swish, clunk, a hum which was outside of even an Angels hearing range; a drawer being opened, a file being returned to its rightful place, the drawer closing, the system recalibrating and adjusting. _Something beginning with a B._ Squeak, rustle, swish, clunk. _Need to get a call into maintenance to fix that squeak._

And with that inconsequential thought, a light shivers down from heaven, _hitting_ – of all places – Tempest, USA.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Ash_

It was an unseasonably cold school day. _Early fall should not be this cold._ I was, just barely, keeping myself awake in class, in spite of the overheated room and the droning teacher. _Which is a fair accomplishment,_ I thought drowsily, _even if I couldn't have told you __**anything**__ of what he's said since he started talking_. I was startled out of my drifting when he said, "Upton."

_Huh?_ "Um err yes, Sir?"

"Did you hear me Upton?" _Well to be __**perfectly**__ honest_ …_no._ "Go see the principal."

_Wait, what did I __**do**__? Why are you picking on __**me**__? I mean come on Jason's __**snoring**__ and_… _**shit**__ why me? _She sighed._ Might as well get it over with._ "Yes sir."

As I stood up and headed for the front of the class, I couldn't help but notice that several guys had been startled out of their collective apathy to look me over.

Now standing at 5'6", with shortish red hair and green eyes. My usual camouflage of jeans and a baggy T-shirt with sneakers didn't exactly hide the fact that I was both _female_ and would be considered by most guys as being quite attractive.

_**Fuck**__ you, stop __**looking**__ at me. I may now __**inhabit**__ a girl's body, but doesn't mean _you_ have to __**look**__. _My glare, or perhaps my previous reactions to such looks, ensured that the looks were brief and by the time I'd collected a hall pass and exited the class room, the class was again sunk into its apathy.

The hallway was significantly cooler than the classroom had been and goose bumps broke out down my back as I headed towards the office.

_My __**Major**__ problem is getting him __**back**__ into Heaven; being stuck with this could really start to mess with my mind if it goes on for __**too**__ long._

Rumisiel, Ash's perennially lazy free-loader/boyfriend/beard, had been the main cause of the majority of my brain sweat recently.

_Can I speed it up? How? _**Look for more unusual events, dumb-ass.**_ They don't grow on trees. _**Maybe not but they **_**do**_** happen round here more than they should.**_ Well maybe that's because I'm _living_ with an __**Angel**__,_ _**duh**_!**Angel**_**s!**__ Not that they've managed to do me any favours. _**So far.** _Shut it, __**brain**__._

_**Misfile**__. How simple would life be if I had never heard that word?_

Pessimistic thoughts circled, collided, fragmented and rejoined. My pace slowed and my head and shoulders drooped as everything that was wrong with my life started to crush me under their combined collective weight. Fortunately I wasn't all that far from the Principals Office, my feet having carried me without any additional input from my thoughts. _Hopefully it won't be _too_ bad_… _**Hell**__, what are the chances of __**that**__? More likely I'll be told that the school is going to do something __**completely**__ off the hook_…

I pulled open the door into the school office with a sigh at my probable fate.

"Ash!" My head jerked up, along with the school receptionists, who even in my currently distracted state looked _more_ than a little _stressed_, were Emily and Missi. _Shoot, at least the brothers Angelic aren't here to round out the awkward. That would be my very definition of __**Hell**__._ Missi was lounging on one of the uncomfortable seats reserved for troublemakers. Emily was however near some of the school pictures.

"What are you here for? Did both of you manage to get in trouble? …At the _same_ time?"

"Well, Emily was _trying_ to make out with me. You know, _in class_, to demonstrate just how much of a lesbian she _really_ is." Missi was hitting sarcasm with venom. _At least I __**hope**__ its sarcasm. If it's anything else_…

Emily huffed in exasperation. "_I_ was called here; _you're_ here for beaning some guy with a wrench in consumer auto repair. Don't even try to paint me as a cradle robbing lesbian, using innuendo and unfounded allegations. Especially since we _don't_ share a class and Ash _knows_ _it_." _Well at least she isn't bickering back._

Missi's expression went thoughtful. "Huh. Forgot about that."

I sighed, "No fighting. I'd hate to give Emily free reign to counter-attack." _I swear I feel like a Mom with really wild children._

Emily's expression went glum, "To be honest, I have no knowledge as to why I was called here," a wry smile crossed her face. "Perhaps it'll be something fun. We're _owed_ that much."

"Owed by _whom_, Miss McArthur?" We all turned to look, the principal had emerged from his office, and his hair was in disarray; almost as if he had been pulling it out in clumps. _Careful, you might run out of hair if you keep that up. How long had he been there for?_

"I– I– I was talking in only the most general of terms, Principal."

The Principal grunted, "Ash and Emily, I called you here to provide an escort to some foreign exchange students from Japan. This is because Ash will be sharing a number of classes with them in addition to having _experience_ with exchange students," _crap_, "and with Emily being one of our _top_ students," _well, duh_, "she should be able to provide aid to them _without_ significant detriment to her studies." Me and Emily exchanged glances that gave voice to our worry at this unexpected development. "I believe you two would make _excellent_ chaperones to show our guests around."

He now turned to Missi, "But _you_ young lady, I have to call your parents," he sighed, "suspension is the only option available to me under the _circumstances_. We have _zero tolerance policy_ towards _violence_ here and it _will_ be enforced."

Someone cleared their throat. The Principal stepped out of his doorway, revealing a young girl. She had long, straight hair that almost went down to her waist. _Damn, it's __**purple**__, shiny purple hair! Who does that?_ The cut of her hair at the front provided a sharp fringe with a triangular shape that almost reached the ridge of her nose. Her eyes were a dark blue, verging on purple. _Nobody's eyes are __**that**__ colour, contacts? Must be._ She turned towards the Principal and said with a strong accent, "Begging your pardon, Principal, but I saw several gent– _boys_ try to approach this young la– _girl_, one of them then touched her in," she paused here, her eyes closing and the faintest tingeing of a blush emerged through her ivory complexion, "a most _inappropriate_ way."

The school Receptionist gasped, "Oh _my_."

My temper, which had been on a _very_ short leash recently, almost exploded. _If I __**find**__ them_… Emily put her hand on my elbow, and pulled slightly, bringing my ear down into easy whispering distance. "Calm yourself Ash. She can take care of herself and she doesn't need you getting suspended on her behalf _either_."

The girl nodded towards the receptionist, "I believe it is important to the school's honour, especially with there being new exchange students here, that there is no… _tolerance_ to boys who are touching girls inappropriately," she gave a sweet smile to the Principal, "_especially_ if it is against their will."

The principal stiffened at this statement, his face was red with anger and he looked almost like I felt at that moment. _Like ripping their guts out, or removing their teeth. With pliers, and no pain relief._ His face was thunderous with rage when he said to Missi, "Miss Fuller there are _other_ methods of dealing with such _actions_. In the future, should _anything_ of a similar nature occur, to you or _anyone_ else, please report any such incidents to the nearest teacher so that we can take _proper_ disciplinary action. Taking matters into your own hands just creates _problems_." His hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Today I will forgo punishing you for your actions, but this is a one-time-only deal. Should you end up in my office charged with violence I will deal with you, in accordance with the school rules and to the severity required of me. Now get back to class. Mrs. Mellor, I'll need the names of Thomas's parents and their phone numbers." He sighed, and looked at the receptionist with exhaustion written all over his face. "Perhaps a class register as well, for corroboration of Thomas's actions and for the names of the other people involved." He started for his office.

"I'll get right on it sir."

"Good, I'll leave you students to get acquainted with our guest here." His door closed with a thump.

"Oh dear, so _busy_ today. So many things happening… wrong drawer… everything is filled in the wrong place…" I led the way out of the office while the receptionist opened and shutting filing cabinet drawers and mumbling to herself.

Instead of heading for class, Missi stuck with them as they assembled in the corridor outside of the office, the young girl introduced herself without any prompting, "My name is Saeko Busujima, I am eighteen years old and a resident of Tokonosu, Japan. I am here as a foreign exchange student. You may call me Saeko. I guess you will be some of my new classmates." She bowed formally to them. She was taller than me, slender and wearing a knee-length green skirt with a tight white V-neck shirt with green lapels. It had the same formal look of a school uniform, but even I wouldn't expect Emily to know which school all the Japanese school uniforms belonged to.

What hadn't immediately registered to me was that Saeko had an impressively large pair of boobs, which, with the position of the V in her shirt, were _very_ much on display. _…they look __**larger**__ than Kate's do._

I felt very self-conscious about my figure under the best of circumstances, but this was just ridiculous. Evidently, noting the look on my face, Emily tapped Ash's arm briefly and whispered to me, "We'll talk later. Now stop visually spelunking her cleavage."

I glanced at Emily. _Even __**she**__ looks __**uncomfortable**__, and Missi looks almost the same as when she was questioning her sexuality back at the __**start**__ of the school year, way __**before**__ she found that push-up bra of hers. That's __**surprising**__, I wouldn't have thought that a new girl would have this effect on __**them**_…

_Damn. Step forward and be polite __**Ash**_. _Before she thinks you've all swallowed your tongues._ "Hi, Saeko, I'm Ash Upton, seventeen, hope we get along." I glanced at Emily. _Damn,_ _**still**_ _tongue tied._ "_This…_" I took Emily's arm, "…is Emily McArthur, she's e–" _**shit!**_ "–_sixteen_ years old, my friend, top student and very occasionally my _protégé_." A quick glance at Missi showed that she hadn't recovered yet, either. "The one whose bacon you've already managed to save…" I gestured expansively towards Missi. _**Crap!**__ I feel like car-room salesman!_ "…is Missi Fuller, fourteen years old," _going on __**five**_, "friend and mechanic."

Missi visibly swallowed before giving Saeko a blinding smile. '_Mine eyes, mine eyes!_' "Thank you _ever_ so much for your help with the Principal. It would have taken _forever_ to get everything straightened out if you hadn't being willing to step forward. If you _ever_ need someone to tune up your car, feel free to give me a call." Missi then tried to pull Saeko into a hug.

Saeko fended her off with a slightly panicked expression. "I– I'm sorry. I am not used to… showing affection."

I was expecting Missi to start looking like someone had kicked her puppy. _Does she have a puppy? I didn't notice one when I was… her girlfriend._ But instead Missi just gave Saeko a broad smile. _That smile gives me __**chills**__._ "You'll get used to it!" She then turned and started to walk away, raising a hand in farewell, "See you later. I'd best get back to class before I get into even _more_ trouble!"

They all just stood there a moment, absorbing the aftershocks from tidal wave Missi. Emily cleared her throat, "She's just a teensy bit over enthusiastic, isn't she?"

I snorted, "Is that up for 'The Understatement of the Century Award'?"

Saeko just shakes her head slowly, "Where I am from we would say she's… I think the word is cute?"

Emily and I exchange glances. _It sure as hell __**fits**__._

"That's appropriate," Emily says, now wearing a wry smile.

"I'll say." _And that's all I'm going to say on the subject. I will_ _**not**_ _be drawn into a discussion of Missi's looks, personality… __**anything**__._ "Shall we get on to class as well?"

They then began to walk along the hall. Emily began to explain about the school. I zoned out. _Both of us are only doing this __**because**__ of the __**Misfile**_. _Em would be at Harvard_ _**already**_… _or_ _**dead**_ _if she was in that accident with Molly_…_ and it happened the same way_… _I wouldn't have_ _**experience**_ _with exchange students because I wouldn't have Angels_ _**living**_ _with me. I'd have __**crushed**__ Tom in that first race, way before he put NOS into his Acura_…_ huh. I never adjusted the pedals of the Monster. I must have gotten used to having smaller feet. Damn what else have I gotten used to_…_?_ "…and this is your class, Saeko."

"Thank you for your help Emily, and… telling me about the school." _Huh? What is there to tell?_

"I'll see you at lunch, Ash. See you, Saeko." Emily left with a smile and a wave. _Great, __**now**__ what?_

I gave Saeko a wry smile, before opening the door to the classroom. "Shall we?" Saeko preceded me into class.

* * *

><p><span><em>Angie<em>

Penny and I were driving down a street in some town, somewhere in western Massachusetts. Penny was driving; it _was_ _her_ car after all. Well it was _now_; I'd said she could use it when I left. I just never expected her to take me up on it. It was junk then, and with even more years on the clock, it was probably worth much less than the next repair bill. At that point it would probably end up on the nearest scrap heap. As a professional mechanic for the army, my first thought, upon seeing it again, was: _It's_ _**still**_ _running?_ The second, had been an assessment of how long it would last, and I hadn't been hopeful. The clatter from the automatic gearbox had been getting progressively louder and more grating, with every mile travelled. And the engine wasn't doing so hot either. Penny pulled into a service station just as the engine gave a groan, let a gout of steam out from under the bonnet and finally coughed its last.

I had been wincing for so long; it felt like my face was stuck that way, "Well that's that. Why on _earth_ did you choose to keep this heap of junk, which occasionally _masquerades_ as a car, anyway? Penny?"

Her glare was directed a little at me, but mostly at the car, "When you swanned off to join the Army, _this_ was one of the only things you had given me. I don't throw away gifts, I like… _liked_ it, so I didn't want to let it go."

I winced again, _Stubborn as a mule_. Even the realization that I was probably the most important person to Penny didn't manage to iron out _all_ of the problems that meshing two personalities could create. _And to keep this hunk of junk, just 'cos it __**used**__ to be mine._

* * *

><p>After our high school reunion, we'd decided to take a road trip together the following weekend. I was still on leave and Penny's business almost ran itself, or so she said. By the time we had hit the eastern seaboard I had been convinced by Penny that we were much better together. It was <em>hard<em> to accept, even though we'd known each other for what felt like forever.

We'd been childhood friends, sometimes allies; and though graduation from High school has separated us and we'd gone our separate paths; one of the few things we'd always been certain of, was that we had each other's back.

The hardest thing to accept though; was that while Penny preferred men, she liked me so deeply that she was willing to put my being a girl aside. If she could do it, how could I refuse to even try?

That we might _ultimately_ spend the rest of our lives together, sometimes strikes me as, well, just _right_, other times it seems _extreme_.

So we were giving it a try. And with her burgeoning internet business that could be run from anywhere I wasn't exactly costing Penny any of her dreams.

* * *

><p><span><em>Sarah<em>

I was playing with my hair, wondering how I managed to get roped into this meeting. _There are support groups at our college. Why drive to a small town __**just**__ to go to a meeting?_

With my black shoulder length hair, and wearing utterly boring jeans and an unbranded T-shirt I was as far from being a show-off as you could get, which under the circumstances was exactly what I wanted.

I sighed, a great gusty sigh. _Shame Becky and Charlotte didn't get the memo. _Knowing full well that I was here _only_ because of my best friends, Becky and Charlotte, both of whom I'd known for years.

Becky's long blonde hair fell almost to her waist. Wearing a flowing knee length skirt with a shirt that looked more like a tube top, it was just asking for trouble; _especially_ when combined with her slender stature. Particularly since the top only _mostly_ covered her cleavage. The outfit seemed to migrate with every roll of Becky's shoulders.

Becky was here to try and learn to deal with girls on an even playing field, because it was obvious to everybody that she more attracted to the female form than the male equivalent. But with her randomly moving from being overly aggressive, to completely disengaging while attempting to flirt, she desperately needed to find a middle ground between those extremes, hence why she was here.

Charlotte just had issues, _HUGE ISSUES_, and probably enough guilt to sink a battleship easily, _twice over_.

Charlotte's placing a hand on my shoulder, jerking me out of my train of thought, "You all right? You know you don't have to do this for me."

Charlotte had short spiky red hair with some of the spikes being dyed black. Luminous green eyes behind the wire-rim glasses, and was wearing a tight jumpsuit which I would have sworn had probably been sewn into place, It left _nothing_ to the imagination, with the front zipper open it revealed a black sports bra. Charlotte liked to dress as provocatively as her past situation had denied her. Today, she rounded out the outfit with running shoes, rather than sky-high heels.

"You _need_ to figure things out, especially since you got back from the _academy_."

Charlotte pursed her lips, "This isn't going to work if you lie. You've _got_ be honest about me, _with_ me. I was in _prison_. You know I'm almost looking _forward_ to it discussing it, along with my _other_ issues." _Which explains __**why**__, we're here_. "You _know_ what my family and the others did to me," _yeah, __**abuse**__, by every __**definition**__ of the word_. "I even went toe-to-toe with that girl who was easily a potential serial killer."

"Yeah, I know. That other girl was _so_ mad when they arrested you, when she couldn't manipulate you to commit suicide." Sometimes I had wondered just how strong Charlotte was, that time I'd _known_, it would take an _act of God_ to get Charlotte to give up on anything that she wanted. "You never _did_ tell me how you got out. I thought they gave you fifteen to twenty?"

"Well, you see Sarah. With you and Alexander keeping in contact with me, while I was away and the therapy, I got my head back together. I worked hard, got an education. I got myself a law degree and filed a motion to appeal. Turns out; that since I was a minor, when I agreed to my sentence, had no representation or anybody fulfilling the guardian role for me; they _violated_ several of my legal rights."

"How does that get you here?"

"Well, they were looking at a new trial, which would have been really costly to them; along with my psychological profile, which showed that at the time of my arrest I was incompetent to stand trial in the first place; plus all the other girls involved, and _their_ statements and later actions; and the social workers records that show I'd been flagged since _grade school_ as a probable case for child abuse. The middle school hospitalization should have bumped me into the social workers critical care category, but they didn't do anything at the time. Ironically, they had more than enough evidence back then; they could have easily put me in the care of the state. But nobody did _anything_. So by high school… you know I was… well, I was _crazy_ with repressed trauma and pain, especially since they had ignored all my cries for help and just turned a blind eye to… _all_ the things that were done to me."

I looked down and asked quietly, "Why start telling others now? Why _here?_"

"Guess I've come to grips with it, you and Becky are all I have left, especially with how things with went with Alexander and his crazy fiancé.

"_They_ didn't want the cost of a trial or the scandal. Showing how bad they messed up. Especially since the other girl, the _victim_, turned out to be a psychopath. She's done… _things_ inside; also her _own_ confession says I was one of _her_ victims. It would have been a hard sell for them put me way again. So I cut a deal. They sealed all my records as a minor. If anyone asks, I have signed affidavits and public records stating that I was made a ward of the state, which is _technically_ true, should anybody enquire deeper they hit the social workers case files documenting my abuse, hospital records to show that it took me a long time to recover physically, and even more records on the psychological side. I have a high school diploma, a degree and I can start my life anew now. I could even pass the bar," a wry smile, "if it wasn't for having to swear an oath. All of _that_ means I can't afford to talk about any of it near where I live, which is why we're in this town."

I sighed, and then gave Charlotte a hug. Catching a glance at a display of classic hard ciders. _Wonder if it's all still available_, _the display looks_ _**old**_._ I could __**really**__ do with a drink._

Becky glomped me from behind, "What're you doing, you two? Come on, tell me. Hey I heard something weird about you and Alex. Are you and _Alexander_ an _item_ now?"

Charlotte grumbled, "Guess I'll tell you then. Sarah already knows. I _was_ in love with Alex. He kept me together through most of high school. Until, well, _you know_. Even then he kept in contact with me and encouraged me…"

* * *

><p><span><em>Rei<em>

Rei Miyamoto awoke from sleep slowly.

My arrival had been very late last night. Opting to wait for our sponsor parents to arrive, instead of hitching a ride was, in retrospect, a mistake.

But given that I didn't get in until after one last night, our sponsor parents had suggested that we should sleep in, and then see the town. 'After all you'll be living here for a while.'

When I rolled over in bed and got a look at the clock, blearily realising it was already 9am. _I've never slept this late before_.

Slowly clambering out of the bed that I'd slept in last night, I staggered bleary-eyed into an en suite bathroom. I stripped and stepped straight into the shower.

Within ten minutes I was out and dressing, I dressed in the school uniform I'd worn in Japan.

I had other clothes, but I wanted to know what was acceptable and what was not. The American TV shows I'd seen were a poor guide for that sort of things.

While looking in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, brushed out my hair and adjusted my outfit, I noted to myself that I looked _very_ well rested. Minimal make-up almost finished the preparations for the day._ Is it bad for me to take pride in my appearance? No, I don't __**think**__ so_. _Saeko taught me to have confidence in myself. In the past I would have naturally second-guessed myself_. Looking out of the mirror was a slim and perky individual with brown eyes that had a slight tinge of red. I snorted to herself. _If I described them __**any**__ other way, I'd sound like an __**Oni**__._ Sighing I gathered my long brown hair into a ponytail, leaving a set of bangs that framed my face.

The usual two strands had already escaped my ponytail and were now sticking out like a pair of antenna. I tried to pat them flat, but only the once. Long experience had taught me that my hair would do exactly what _it_ wanted, and there was little I could do to change _that_.

Emerging from my room, I checked the room across the corridor, Saeko wasn't there, neither was her bokken. _That_ gave me a pause, until the realisation that it was only during the flight here that I'd seen her without it. _Security blankets come in all shapes and sizes_. Wearing a wry smile, I moved cautiously down the stairs, I'd only met our sponsor parents the once after all, even if we'd been emailing back and forth for months already.

* * *

><p>My sponsor Mother had been rummaging around the kitchen when I arrived downstairs. She'd smiled widely and offered me my choice of breakfasts, including all of my favourites. My sponsor Mother had mentioned while preparing my breakfast that my friend Saeko had already gone to their new school, even though they weren't due to attend until Tuesday. "You can catch up later." This had made me feel <em>inexplicably<em> uneasy.

But, after finishing breakfast I'd had to agree with my sponsor parents, it would be foolish not to explore the town while I could, the better I knew it, the easier it would be to find my way. So I set off, taking careful note of the landmarks that I passed.

While I explored, thoughts of Japan filled my head, how some things were the same yet so many things were so _very_ different.

The town seemed small; I could actually see grass and open fields not far from town. This was very different to Tokonosu city. _It looks, and feels, a lot like my grandparents home in the country._

While wool-gathering and looking at a fairly impressive hill to the west, a young woman collided with me, almost knocking me down. The woman screeched at me, "Run! There's a crisis in town. Don't let them bite you. Run!"

She then pushed me away and ran on. I looked after the running girl. _She's nuts. Are __**all**__ Americans, pushy like this?_ My knowledge of the country was mostly based on TV. I knew the language, well enough, but the actual culture? Not so much.

While getting my bearings again, I noticed a few people staggering towards me. Something seemed _off_ about them. _Oh_, that was it. They were covered in _blood_. I was frozen from the sight of the blood, I just _stood_ there as they approached.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_In a Town called Tempest_

Elsewhere, a large truck collided with the supply entrance near the cafeteria of the High School, punching through the shutters of the loading bay and coming to a rest several metres inside the building. _They_ were injured, two having gone through the trucks wind-shield, and several more were unmoving. Others however emerged from the back of the truck and many more through the hole left in the shutters. _They_ kept moving, spreading through the building. The cafeteria staff never stood a chance.

Within minutes _they_ numbered at least thirty.

These new arrivals started to spread throughout the school. The first class of the day was still in session.

* * *

><p>Similar scenarios were playing out all across the small town of Tempest; the mayor would have raised the alarm, except… he was one of the initial victims. The Sheriff's Department who had encountered the first recorded instances of a<em> zombie<em> had got the ball rolling by calling the State Governor, he'd almost immediately declared a state of emergency, and quarantined Tempest and its environs. Local and State cops with units from the National Guard were assembling at the department's station, just outside of Tempest.

The situation was being treated, _primarily,_ as a search and rescue operation. A handful of people from other _agencies_ arrived, _after_ the Governor made the initial announcement, to provide _support_ and _intelligence_ to the ongoing operation.

* * *

><p><span><em>RPG<em>

My name is Maestro. Well, pretty much everyone calls me _that_, at least. I work as a computer support technician in network engineering. In plain English: I'm the monkey that keeps big corporate support networks running and helping them make money. I'm on the hardware end of things, usually. Normally I'm in Canada but I'm over here, in the U.S., with my friend Sam and my big brother Davis.

Recently things have been really stressful. Partially because my parents recently moved in with me; they're getting older and need the extra support.

But when my brother Davis also moved in with me; that just added to the strain. He's a bit of an ass, but when his fiancée up and left him homeless, I took him in, I kind of had to.

This trip was supposed to be a sort of light-hearted intervention by Sam and everyone else who's convinced that I was burying myself in my work. For Sam it's also an excuse to geek out.

So here I am, at a role-playing game convention that is stupidly being held at a library. I mean, who holds an RPG convention, at a small-town _library_, in the middle of _nowhere_? And even though it was supposed to be several states away from half the people that I hate on the scene, they _still_ came. Craig, Jordan and Greg, the bastards, they just _had_ to be here. I'm still annoyed over their getting me thrown out of the last con.

* * *

><p>I cursed as I checked various shelves in the back of the supply room. <em>How have things gotten so bad?<em>

Davis was behind me making discouraging noises.

_I swear if he wasn't my brother, I'd knock him senseless._

I clenched my phone in my hand, hoping for a reply or any message at all, from Sam.

Davis finally asked, "What do you think happened back there?"

I just looked at him, "They died."

"How many of them?" Davis sounded hushed when he asked the question, almost as if he knew what the answer would cost me.

"All of them. Every single one of them."

* * *

><p>Things <em>had<em> been going smoothly at the convention, right until the infected started to pour into the hallway, and we could _see_ them through the glass partitions in the wall. How they got here, don't know, don't care, but as soon as I saw the first person go down, I just knew something was wrong.

'Listen up, everyone! If we work together, bottle then up, we can then push them back, hold a line and we _will_ survive this.'

Greg, was being his typical ass-hole self, grimaced, "Don't listen to this poncey poser; we'll go when the right person is here." He was just trying to take control again. Ironically behind Greg, Jordan, who had accused my in the past of being frightened of my own shadow, was acting the coward with some of the convention organizers, by trying to make a swift exit out of one the closed side door. "We don't need his kind here, or his skanky friends."

"See Greg, that's why I said we all _need_ to work _together,_ put your personal feelings aside…" I reached to pick up my bag and felt a kick in my side.

Greg had kicked me. While down, he pulled me close and said, "_You_ are the worst kind of scum there is, college _jerk_ looking down on me just because of my skin colour. That's why I had you booted at the last convention. I _also_ talked to Sam, and Sam shouldn't be wasting time with people like _you_, Sam doesn't deserve to have sicko's like you hanging around."

So I thought: What the hell? Greg's _almost_ got the same skin tone as me. The only _real_ difference is Greg uses _way_ too much tanner.

I shoved his hands away, got back to my feet, stretched and said, "We need…"

That's when another person pushes me down, all the way to the ground this time. Somehow one of the infected managed to get into the room, and with Greg being an arse; I must have missed the warning, if there was one. It barely missed biting me.

My kick pushed it back; spun around by the force it fell into a nearby wall with a crack. This time I used the medieval re-enactment display tables to get back up. I pulled my bag up, studied the room and worked out how it got in. I wasn't thinking straight, I can admit that, I was _enraged_. I had _tried_ to _help_; they tried to get even with me, almost getting me killed! What was worse was, well, we were having a _crisis!_ And yet, to _them_ their stupid narcissistic need to dominate me had prevailed.

My fist flew, _hard_, into the next person's face, before they even laid a hand on me, or Davis for that matter; breaking the guy's nose. Then I kicked him below the belt.

I actually feel bad about _that_, no guy deserves to get kicked in the balls, though I wouldn't have felt very guilty if it had been Greg standing there. The guy fell to his knees holding his, well, _you know_.

I grabbed a shield from the display; it had weight and was good and solid; almost like what I imagine a real one would be like. I used the shield as a ram, pushing my attackers back towards the barricaded door. Somewhere in there I climbed over a table, smashing Greg in the face with the shield. _That_ I don't feel guilty over, at all. I also lost track of Davis in the chaos. I shoved Greg back into the barricade at the main doors. I jumped, using Craig like a stepping stone, upon landing I kicked the bolt holding the base of one of the doors closed. With the weight of zombies on the other side, the other bolt at the top couldn't hold and both doors crashed open, _through_ the barricade that we'd put in place to, temporarily, _reinforce_ them.

With Greg and Craig having already broken the defensive line; to settle their vendetta; as the zombies poured in, they flanked the line and moving through the gaps, almost in a wave. But they weren't the only ones. Through the line, jump onto a table, run the length of the table grabbing an armful of stuff that might be useful. I hurdled the last display, one of character models, landing beside a fire door, the one that Davis was standing next to.

I bodily shoved him through, kicked the door shut behind me, then dumped everything I'd grabbed on the floor, I grabbed a slim replica dagger, turned quickly and shoved it between the metal locking bar and the door and _into_ the door frame. Then I hammered it deep with a replica Viking war hammer, it was only then that my memory poked me, the other fire exit was blocked by a big display, effectively I'd just sealed everybody else into the main room, with a zombie horde.

_That_ was when the screaming started on the other side.

* * *

><p><span><em>Rei<em>

At the very last second, a pair of hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me into a building, throwing me down to the floor inside. I didn't even register where the man had grabbed me. I watched from the floor while he bolted a heavily reinforced steel door. Shock kept me static on the floor, until the man grabbed my hands pulled me to my feet and then dragging me to a bar, and pushing me down onto an empty barstool. I finally managed to break away from my shock enough to notice some of my surroundings, which is why the first thing that came out of my mouth was the completely inane comment, "This appears to be some kind of bar."

The man had walked all the way round the bar and was now standing behind the counter by the time I said this. After clearing his throat, "You're right; this _is_ a bar, well a nightclub _actually_. The 'Flaming Flamingo' serves, well, pretty much _anyone_, but our clientèle tends to be of a certain _variety_. You're more than safe here, so have a drink and I'll fill you in on the situation. I'm Cliff, by the way."

"Rei. … I'm …not old enough to drink…"

Before I could protest any more Cliff said, "I know that, you can have some juice, or squash. Whichever I manage to find first. But I bet that after we talk, you'll probably want something stiffer, a _lot_ stiffer." He grunts, then turned to pull a tumbler from the back wall. "You're not the type that people come _here_ for, so you don't need to worry about any _advances_ here." _Huh?_ Cliff looked amused by this lack of understanding.

"You mean I'm not _old_ enough to be here, or I'm not _adult_ enough…"

Smiling, Cliff handed me a brochure for the club. I turned bright red, as I looked at _just_ the front cover.

"So you're…"

"Nah, I only _work_ here. It's one of the better bars in town for tips," he paused, grinned widely and then gestured towards the till, "also I make ten bucks _more_ an hour working here. And the dress code suits me." I finally noticed that he was dressed in leather from head to toe. Leather pants that matched an open waistcoat; with a pair of lurid cowboy boots on his feet. I couldn't tell if he was supposed to resemble a biker or a fictional cowboy from the Wild West. Cliff pushed a half-filled tumbler of orange juice across the bar into my hand. When I picked it up, my shaking hand showed how good an idea it had been to only part fill the glass, any _more_ and I'd have spilled it all over the nice clean bar.

"So what _is_ going on?" I asked just as another man at a table shouted drowsily for a drink and then planted his face back on the table again. Snoring ensued as I looked at the man with surprise; I hadn't noticed him until he'd shouted.

Cliff obviously misinterpreted my question, "Huh, oh, that's Philip, he's a regular. He'll be up in a few hours in time for something to eat and drink so just ignore him for now. William, my boss, should be around here somewhere as well."

"No, I, mean… what's going on _outside_? It doesn't make _sense_. It's _impossible_…"

Cliff smiled at me, his craggy face filled with laugh lines, scrunching with amusement, he launched into an explanation. The _long way_ round, "Right, so any-ways, I was here, setting up for fruity drink night," the lack of understanding must have shown on my face, "half price on fruity drinks," he sighed at my continuing lack of comprehension, "it's the theme for tonight. Where was I… oh yes, I was watching the news–" He pointed to one of the big hanging TVs. "And there's some kind of outbreak. Seriously freaky shit. It looks like if you're cut by one of _them_, bitten or even just get infected, you _become_ one of _them_." The drink that I'd been raising to take a sip from, slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, it bounced off my knee and shattered on the floor, "Yeah, like I said, seriously freaky shit. Wait. _I'll_ tidy that up _later_. Do you want something stronger?" I swallowed and nodded absently, Cliff pulled down two bottles from behind the bar; one of something called Lillet, the other of Plymouth Gin. "Anyway, those infected start to act, well, _crazy_. They try to bite or hurt anyone around them, perpetuating the cycle." Cliff had just measured out a small amount of the Lillet and twice as much of the gin into a shaker, before adding a small amount of ice. Topping off the shaker, he then started to shake it vigorously, "According to the 'experts' on the news _they_ appear immune to pain. Nobody knows what it might take to stop one. Some of the talking heads on CNN were arguing about what happens when someone goes terminal and whether they can be brought back. Though personally I doubt it's possible."

"_Terminal?_"

The shaking stopped and he grabbed a metal device that looked like a flattened whisk. "Well, as I figure, you take the no pain _thing_," he pulled the top off the shaker, "no eating or sleeping," grabbed a small glass, "add no eating or sleeping or, well," he began to pour the liquid into the glass through the whisk thing, "anything _except_ attacking. Your body would start fall apart, right? They'll just keep going as long as they've got the fuel to keep going."

I looked at the orange liquid that had finished filling the glass and asked, "What do you mean by _fuel?_"

Cliff shrugged while squeezing the peel of a lemon in a metal crusher over the glass, "Your guess is probably as good as mine at this point."

I pondered this for a moment, but before I could follow the thought _too_ deep, Cliff pushed the fresh drink to me and said, "Drink this and stay sharp," and then pulled a shotgun from behind the counter.

I hadn't heard a noise, or much of anything. So I turned on the stool to follow Cliff as he walked from behind the bar and across the room, he was loading shotgun rounds from his bulging pockets as he went. He was halfway across the room before I saw the others. A tall, distinguished man whom I assumed was William was standing between two others.

Too late I saw that the others were, _odd_. I watched in horror as the men around William grabbed an arm each and pulled, tearing him apart – limb-from-limb – William screamed for a few moments as blood sprayed across the room in wide arcs as he wobbled from foot to foot, before going down underneath the two others. Cliff screamed as he charged in, firing at the first, and swinging the butt of the shotgun into the head of the second, with a meaty crunch.

I fell back onto the bar at the sound of the shot, before grabbing and downing the drink. The burn of alcohol going down cleared my mind of the fear that had been rendering me unable to function.

Clifford shouted back to me, "Take the broom from behind the counter. You gonna need a weapon! And a bottle lets them get _way_ too close!" He pumped the shot gun once, places it against the second things head and blows its brains out, all across the dance floor. He's panting while he reloads and racks another round. "Follow me; someone must have opened the loading door. Gotta secure it before we're overrun."

With that he ran through the door that _they_ had come through, I heard several screams before I managed to get over the bar and grab the broom. Running for the door, just before I reached it, from out of the shadows of the nightclub a 'walker' lunged for me. _Where the fuck did __**that**__ come from?_

* * *

><p><span><em>Penny<em>

Noticing that Angie was deep in thought, an old thought ran through its well-worn groove. _She gets so preoccupied that she forgets everything else._ While thinking this I completely failed to notice the staggering corpse of the man until he was almost on top of me.

I screamed.

I was just about able to push him back, when the store clerk assisted me by grabbing him around the neck and pulling it away from me; unfortunately the clerk was bitten by the second corpse, the female one that had been coming around the side of the service station, the one that _both_ of us missed. They struggled for a moment and then the _three_ of _them_ started advancing on me again.

This time though, Angie smashed one of _them_ in the face with a full bottle of window cleaner, knocking it down, smashed the female one in the face on the back swing and then she threw it into the clerks face. With all three of _them_ on the ground, she grabbed one of the pump handles and just kept hitting _them_ until they stopped moving. She grabbed my hand and together we ran into the gas station.

Inside she quickly slammed the door shut and turned the key that was already in the lock, grabbing the keys she fumbled until she found a second key which she used at the top and the bottom of the door in other keyholes that I had completely missed. Then she ran to a large food dispenser, "Come on Penny, I need your help!" Running over, I get a decent grip but all we manage to do is rock it in place, "No Angie. Together. On three. One, two… _three_!" We managed to jerk it off its base, "Again! One, two… _three_!" With the second movement we manage to get the machine so that we can rock it back and forth towards the door. Finally after five minutes of panicked sweaty effort, the machine is blocking the door. And we've piled up some of the shelves against it, to increase the friction should they manage to start pushing it back.

Angie collapsed near the door looking exhausted. I, however, run to check the back. It would be a horrendous bit of irony, to block off the front and have the zombies come round from the back. Thankfully though the other door is locked, bolted and is already barricaded. Returning to the front of store I found Angie crying and shaking.

Before approaching her, I note that the windows had shutters down on the outside and that no lights were on. _Looking like this, no one would have thought anyone was in here or that it hadn't been opened up yet. The clerk was probably fortifying this place up, when he saw our difficulty and came to help._

Behind the counter a broken phone hangs crookedly from the wall. On the counter a name tag sits, face down, picking it up on my way to Angie I see that the guy's name was Cole. He _definitely_ knew _something_ was up. My focus switches over to Angie as I reach her. The tag falls from my hand as I envelop her in a hug, she then starts pulling me as close to her as she can get. She's crying into my shoulder and rocking back and forth while I'm just about sitting in her lap. Murmuring soft words to comfort her, she slowly quiets.

_I wonder if __**they're**__ attracted by noise._

_I didn't even grab my purse, the only important thing I have is in my pocket. I'll hold onto it for now, the time isn't right yet. I– __**wait**__, the __**only**__– _

"Damn." Angie looks at me from eyes red with crying, "Did you bring your cell phone in with you?" She shakes her head in a mute _no_. "The phone behind the counter is busted, and my cell phone is in my purse."

"Where's your purse?"

"Outside. In the Car."

"Oh …_Fuck_."

* * *

><p><span><em>Missi<em>

I found myself standing on a cafeteria table freaking out at the various crazies surrounded me. I always wanted to be more popular, but not _this_ kind of popular. I mean, come on, they're trying to _eat_ me!

Just a few minutes ago I was back in consumer auto repair class, _again_. Why is it that everything turns to _shit_ for me in _there?_

Anyway, this guy had burst in; I think someone said his name was _Jason_. Yeah, so he was screaming about _monsters_. I mean come _on_, _monsters_, who would have believed him? Well _we_ certainly did when he just disappeared from sight and then all we could hear was his _screams_. If I was inclined to faint, I definitely would have, right _then_, it's a shame really, _now_ I have nightmare fuel for, _like_ the next thousand years.

Anyway so these two really weird, blood splattered people then came in through the door, and Mr. Walker, who was brave but really dumb under the circumstances, walked right up to them and demanded that they identify themselves. The two _things_ just killed him, and they weren't quick about _either_. Like I said: _nightmare fuel_. So the class were screaming, or frozen in shock or falling over and all the other things that people do when they panic. I _didn't_. OK, _ok_. I tell a _lie_, I fell out of my chair, on my _ass_ and screamed like a little _girl_, _ok_?

So yeah, girls are screaming, the guys are freaking out; one guy grabbed his desk and tossed it at one of the things. Yeah, his _desk_! Even managed to hit one of them, it hit the chalkboard and fell. But they weren't dead, oh _no_, that would have been too _easy_. It was still moving, and yeah, there was the other one as well!

Right so everyone is panicking and everyone is trying to flee. Like that was going well. The down thing was by the door, up thing is still coming, and if there are two there's gotta be more of them in the hallways.

_Yeah. Fuck my life._

So how did I go from consumer auto repair to the cafeteria? Well, I went out the window, I was all set to run across the school field when I saw more of those things coming from, well it looked like from everywhere. So I turned tail and ran in through the nearest set of doors, right into the cafeteria.

But there were just as many inside as out, so I got up on top of a table and hoped that well:

they _couldn't_ climb (_what were the things that couldn't climb? Oh. Wait. Daleks. Scratch that idea_)

_if_ they _could_ climb, I could kick them in the face, it might knock 'em down, or slow them up. They might not be able to get _too_ close.

And it's working! For a while, anyway, but at some point these _things_, _hell_, _**zombies**_, are going to overwhelm me with numbers. _**Yeah**_, _exactly_. _FML_.

* * *

><p><span><em>Emily<em>

As I walked away from Ash and the new girl, Saeko, one thought kept intruding. I should have been thinking about class, but instead my thoughts were centred on Saeko's home-town; Tokonosu city, I'd _never_ heard of it. _Ever_. Now that _isn't_ unusual, I don't know everything, after all. But what was odd, was that I _should_ have known. I'd done a project in Geography to find out the name of every city, town and village with 'city', 'town' or 'village' in their name. Admittedly it was back in fourth grade, but I should _not_ have forgotten about one of them. Especially when I could remember the exact number of places from Japan that was included, it was thirty-four, in case you're interested. It was a while ago, but what were the chances of a new town/city growing in just nine years? Being large enough to have a high school? And in _Japan_ as well.

I mean, they have a population of over a hundred-and-ten million, in an area smaller than many of the American states. The number of people per square kilometre is vastly larger in Japan than here. There simply isn't _space_ to build a new ci–

A huge but distant crash interrupted my train of thoughts. I _hate_ it when that happens; usually it means I have to reassemble my entire line of questioning from the start, if I want to get to the last thought I had been thinking.

I had been a few steps from the stairs, when my thoughts were interrupted. My first thought was: Accident. If I'd had a mobile phone I'd have called 9-1-1. As it was I knew there probably wasn't anything I could do to help in that respect, but I did have some first aid training. DR. ABCDE. Danger –assess for danger to yourself and others; Responsiveness; Airways; Breathing; Circulation; Deformities and Extraction rounded it out. Well I _had_ to be closer to do, _any_ of it, so I started down the stairs going slowly. It would be just my luck to have the ceiling fall in on me when racing to help someone. Or have the floor collapse out from under–

Distant screams were echoing up the stairs. OK, so it's bad. They're hurt but conscious, or the injuries are so horrific it's causing panic. Hopefully there isn't too much bl–

_When did the screaming stop?_

I was only a half-dozen steps up from the first floor, when I came to a stop. An alarm was going off in the back of my head.

It might have been going a while, but it had just ramped up to, well, at _least_ ten big, _strong_ men swinging large hammers into an enormous gong. Hard to ignore _that_.

To be honest it was kind of freaking me out, I had two instincts, one saying to go help and the other saying, _you __**fool**__, go no further!_

I was completely frozen by indecision. That's the difference that the Misfile has made for me, I've _learned_ to listen to my _instincts_, not just the ones I've trained, but my innate instincts as well. If I _hadn't_ Bronwyn wouldn't have freaked me out so much.

But now they were in conflict, and I'd never had to deal with that before. So, indecision …_yeah_.

The screaming starts again, but it's closer, a _lot_ closer.

Someone is running across the bottom of the stairs, they're looking over their shoulders, they trip. My heart is in my throat, but I don't know _why_, not _yet_. While she's struggling back to her feet, the floors too slippery, something emerges from the corridor, grabs them and bites down. They scream so loud it hurts, but they break free in a spray of blood. I think the logical parts of my mind shut down about here, because when the victim broke free the thing was pushed and pivoted enough that I could see its face.

I think my instincts said something along the lines of: _Seen enough? Zombies. Got it? __**Run!**_

The next thing I was really aware of was skidding onto the corridor at the top of the stairs; I did it with a controlled slide that I couldn't have repeated with _decades_ of practice. Then I was running like, well, _zombies_ were behind me. Which was fair, because they _were_!

Ash's classroom was right in front of me, I'm still running for it when more zombies make the turn at the other end of the corridor, they're closer to the door than I am. I don't have time to think, I just push for every bit of speed that I can. My instinct chimes in at some point to put on the breaks or I'll overshoot. Both feet stop, and leaning back I slide to a stop right in front of the classroom door. I grab the handle force it down and spin round slamming the door behind me.

All my weight is on the door; my knees have turned to jelly. I ignore everything else as I seek out my anchor, the one who makes sense of the crazy world around me, her green eyes meet mine, it's almost like we're the only two here in this crowd. She goes pale as she reads something in my face, and stands.

I manage to choke out one word. "Z-z-zombies–"

Someone snorts in laughter. And the whole room breaks out in conversations and laughter.

"Miss McA–"

"How far behind you are they?" I'm panting, and only Ash's question registers out of everything else going on.

The door rattles in its frame, creaking under the force against it. The room is now, deafly, _silent_.

I answer Ash's question, though it didn't really need answering anymore, but it was the only way I was going to keep any semblance of control, "Not… far… enough."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Sheriff's Department_

Inside _and_ outside the department, it is chaos. Not even controlled chaos. Less than a tenth of the National Guard who lived in Tempest made it out, some caught before they made it to their vehicles, others when lack of speed allowed the zombies to gain access and bite the occupant. For some the call to arms came too late entirely. Only those travelling in excess of forty mph made it out of the town at all. When the town's cops got out, they did so while evacuating the doctor's offices and various clinics, half of them laid down their lives in that effort.

The Army was on its way, the Navy was sending aircraft including helicopters, to act as both gun platforms and to evacuate those in need. The Air Force is already circling Tempest with surveillance aircraft, observing and tracking bodies that are below the average temperature of any known living creature. So far there haven't been any zombies attempting to leave the town itself, but they wait to warn when that situation changes. The NSA will have satellite coverage starting from 10:13, until 14:25 and then again, if needed, from 16:48 until 21:00, but for now they are relying on the pilots in the air and their crew's interpretation of what images they're capturing and what they're seeing. Two full squadrons of high-level bombers are on stand-by to destroy Tempest, but so far the order hasn't yet been given. Eighteen F-15E's, known as Strike Eagles, are circling ready to take out any zombie laden vehicle, or small group that should start heading out of the containment zone.

But for now the greatest danger is that they don't have the numbers to completely quarantine Tempest. There are too many roads, and not enough people to put roadblocks across them all. Any vehicle that manages to make it into the containment zone would have no idea what it is in for.

The Sheriff's greatest worry is that they won't have time to evacuate all those still alive in Tempest before the order comes from the President to commence bombing.

* * *

><p>Just outside the quarantine zone and beyond the area that the surveillance aircraft are watching is a pair of Angels, walking along the railway tracks. They and the two others that are either following them or about to meet them have no further bearing on this tale, except for a single note written in a log book: 4wm bds rw 2k wsw ocz – <em>Four warm bodies, railway, two kilometres West-South-West, outside containment zone.<em>

* * *

><p><span><em>Rei<em>

Swinging the broom into its head, the head of the broom came off, leaving her with just a four foot long length of wood.

I wasn't too concerned with the loss of the broom top, it made the broom far more wieldy and aerodynamic. Add to that _years_ of training, with a _Naginata_, the Japanese Battle Spear, and the alterations were actually to my benefit.

So I defaulted to my training, jabbing the flattened end into the walkers face. The force I was able to bring to bear actually _lifted_ and _held_ the Walker off the ground. It now dangled from the end of the broom, its feet dancing like a puppets. I belatedly recognised it, it's Phillip.

"EWWW–," I screamed, before pivoting and tossed it, _him_, across the club.

Standing there, panting, with rising horror at what's going on, it takes precious moments to realise that there is something moving on the floor behind me. Turning slowly, I sees an armless corpse wiggling towards me. It's William, he doesn't look distinguished anymore. More like a nightmare.

She watches as it, _he_, pauses, pulls his head back and jerks forward like a snake, aiming for my legs.

He misses, _just_. But it's the final straw, I run through the club, through the door Cliff went through. Skidding to a stop as I see him coming towards me. There's a moment of relief, until I notice that he's staggering and reaching for _me_.

Turning tail, running back through the club, hurdling a table, broom still in hand, I reach the door that I came through, shooting the bolts aside I slide it back on its runners, slamming the steel door to the madhouse shut behind me, before bolting down the street.

* * *

><p><span><em>Ash<em>

After going through the awkwardness of introducing Saeko to the class, which we'd probably have to do in _every_ _damn class_, this of course had been followed by the _inevitability_ of all the guys hitting on her, and the occasional joking come-ons from some of the girls, those brave enough to start feeling Saeko out, for where she's fit in to their cliques. If I'd being thinking about it, I would have thought that this would be the worst problem that I would be faced with today.

Emily's crashing entry to the classroom, and her fear, had changed all that. It had streamlined my priorities: Protect Em; Get revenge against those who put that fear on her face. When she said, "Z-z-zombies–" I was left adrift.

I believed her, she could have told me that the sky was purple and I'd have trusted that she was telling me the truth with that look in her eyes, or at the very least had a damn good reason for telling me that.

I asked the only question that came to mind, and it wasn't the obvious one, _'Are you sure?'_ No, I asked, "How far behind you are they?"

When the door rattles in its frame and creaks in protest against the force being put upon it, the class which had been laughing at her fell completely _silent_.

She's panting, "Not… far… enough."

Into the silence the teacher, whose name I cannot for the life of me remember, quietly said, "Class, line up by rows, _behind_ those by a window, those by a window, should open it and step through slowly. No pushing or shoving you'll all get your turn." While he's begun quietly, he had gotten progressively louder, to drown out the noise made by the rest of the class. I however moved in opposition to the flow, putting my back against the door and helping Emily to hold it in place against the unsteady vibrations and shudders from the other side. Windows opened all along the classroom and slowly the classroom emptied.

When I next looked up it was to see the teacher walking along the windows closing and locking them, presumably to protect those on the roof, two other people were still inside, Eponine and a guy.

"Go Eponine, we'll be right behind you." She steps through the open window with a worried expression. Finally there was only one window still open.

The guy is still waiting by the window, the teacher gives us a regretful look and steps out onto the roof before the guy does anything. And when he does it isn't what I expect, he walks towards us. He looks about fifteen and has the gangly look of someone who has grown a lot in a very short space of time, taller than me, but not by a lot. It's only because he's moving that I can see that he's as thin as a rake, almost too thin. He's wearing pants the colour of sand and on his feet are sneakers, except they don't look like sneakers, too dull and complex. He's also wearing a long moss green jumper that looks both soft and well worn. His hair is that mid-brown/blonde that people call dishwater, and his face, well it says _Trust Me_ and something else. _I'll work out what it is later_. It isn't until he's standing right in front of us that it registers to me that he's wearing glasses, thick rectangular lenses in a thin metal frame.

"So," he says, "what's the plan then?" I look at Em and she looks at me, "For you getting out here alive?"

That's when it hits me, if we move away from the door; it will probably give way _before_ we get to the window, _certainly_ before we both get far enough away that they, the zombies, can't reach us. And if we don't close the window behind us, we're in just a bad situation as we are in _right now_. Trapped on a roof with _zombies_ coming for us, I can't think of much worse than that.

"Um."

He sighs, "Emily, let me take over." Em steps away and he puts his shoulder to it, not his back. It means that I can see his eyes, they're the blue of a swimming pool in sunlight and weirdly magnified by the glasses. He's close enough that I can see the frames are scratched and discoloured. He frowns slightly. "I can hold it. Go."

Emily looks at him in shock, swallows and says, "That's very chivalrous." _Hell it's more than I can think anybody else would do. Even I–_

"Nah, not really." He gives me a wry smile. "I'm _far_ _more_ afraid of heights than of zombies." I look at him in shock, he means it. He's waiting for me to go. "Close the window behind you."

"But…" Emily looks as torn as I feel.

"Thank you." I meet his eyes, I can see the fear there, but other than that, he seems calm, "I'll never be able to repay you for this."

His smile is wider and more genuine now, "Just make it count."

I step away from the door and grab Emily's arm on the way to the window, I look back as Emily steps through, there's a crunch and he starts sliding towards me with a slow squeak along the floor. He doesn't look at me. He just shouts, "Close the bloody window."

I step through the window as quickly as I can and slide it shut. He's still there holding the door but now zombie arms are through the gap, the frame is shattered. Then there's a sudden movement as a wave of zombies crashes through the door, on top of him.

I look away and choke back the horror at his bravery at doing something that I couldn't _ever_ bring myself to do. Em pulls me away, there are tears in her eyes.

_He never even made a sound._

I swallow. "Why?"

Em replied while leading me to the rest of the class, "How much do you know about Graham?"

"…Not even his name, until you told me."

"He's already got A's in everything _short_ of Advanced Calculus in every science or math based subject–"

"He skipped grades?"

"No, he's in _your_ class for English. He struggles with that side of stuff, not sure why, but the main problem is that he spends a fair amount of time in the hospital–"

"Injuries?" _He shouldn't have–_

"No, he doesn't do gym. Or any of the sports stuff. He did take part in the 'Mount Greylock Hike' or whatever it's called."

"Running?"

"He set the walkers' record. Something like sixteen miles in four hours." _Jesus. __**Walking**__? That's fast._ "But no, he has health problems, he probably couldn't run for long enough to stay ahead of them, if getting onto the roof didn't work, he'd probably get caught by them very quickly."

"So he chooses to _go_ in a way… that meant _we'd_ have a chance." _That kind of sacrifice, it's the stuff __**legends**__ are made of… that is if __**any**__ of us survive._

I look back, the zombies are pressed against the windows, but spread out, and they obviously aren't getting anywhere near the amount of pressure they were putting on the door.

We reach the rest of the class, clustered near the end of the building; someone's got a mobile out and is giving details of where we are and what the situation is. I ignore them.

"We need to find Missi." Emily just looks at me for a moment, "Fine _I_ need to find Missi. I can't just leave her to die."

"I'm not arguing with you, but _we_ need a plan of action, and a guess at where she might be."

"She was in auto class…"

"That's right next door to the cafeteria and the A/V room."

"We'll need weapons."

"I can help with that." Saeko appearing at my shoulder surprises me, and from Em's face her too.

"_You_ have a weapon."

Em muttered something, it sounded like, "Why am I _not_ surprised?"

"In my Locker." To our questioning looks she replies, "Near the front entrance."

"We can drop down from the roof near there…" Em looked thoughtful, "What _other_ weapons can we grab quickly? Fire extinguishers are _easy_ to grab… Fire axes are _harder_…being behind glass…"

"Sounds like we have enough ideas then." _Uh_. _Shoot_. "Where is the front entrance? I can't tell from up here."

"That-a-way." Eponine said, "You're going back in aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Good luck, don't get yourselves killed. I'm staying; maybe I'll get evacuated with the rest."

"If you _do_…"

"Ask them to send in the Marines." _Nice one, Em._

"…Or the Army."

"Or the Self-Defence Force." _Huh?_

I looked at Saeko, "Do we even have one?"

"_We_ do. In Japan."

"The National Guard is our equivalent, I _believe_." _Huh. You can learn something new every day. Wonder where you picked __**that**__ one up, Em._

"Yeah… Thanks Eponine, if you could do that for us…"

"Sure, I'll pass it on."

We walked across the roof, slowly, carefully. Wary of the windows and what was, in some cases, behind them.

Leaning over the edge Saeko pointed and announced, "There's the front door." She then lowered herself off the roof, holding on with her hands until she dropped the last few feet to the ground. "Clear, for now."

I went next, one hand breaks off a piece of guttering, and it falls past me to the ground. _Damn, I can understand why Graham is afraid of heights_. I land, and turn quickly. _No zombies in sight._ I wave Emily down, she uses the space cleared of guttering and I catch a foot guiding it down, then catching hold of her hips and–

She drops. Lands. Turns and gives me a wry smile.

Saeko is over by the door looking in with her hands providing shade to see inside the hallway. "I can't _see_ any…"

"Not likely to stay that way for long."

"You're right; they're not going to stay clear for long. We don't know what attracts them yet, but whatever it is, we have to go cautiously until either they find us–" Saeko jerks open the door, Emily pauses for a moment before continuing, "…or we figure it out."

Saeko stride to a locker. _Damn that's really close to the front door, how'd she end up with one there?_ Dials in a combination, reaches in and pulls out– A stick, shaped slightly like a sword. _We came here and __**this**__ is the weapon she has?_

"My bokken." She almost caresses it, then seeing our faces, explains, "It's been in my family for generations; it's a Japanese practice sword. It's effective; I've used it to defend myself in the past."

_Okay… How am I supposed to phrase t– _There's movement further up the corridor. I look. _Zombies. Damn._

Before I can say anything, Saeko is off, charging towards them. Running fast enough that her skirt flips up and I see a flash of her thong's rear. _I __**really**__ don't need the distraction._ She runs right past the first zombie _…what the __**hell**__…_ before spinning, her stick scything through the air and impacting several heads along the way. Oh and that skirt just happened to fly up while she was spinning, Emily and I clearly got an eye full, a flash of the front of Saeko's thong. Emily just looked shocked, and me? _…I didn't know thongs came that __**small**__._

I shake myself out of my reverie; grab a fire extinguisher from off the wall, and start to run down the hall towards Saeko with Emily beside me. Saeko takes off again down the corridor as soon as all the zombies are down and unmoving, before we even catch up. Me and Em, exchange a look of exasperation at her.

"_Impetuous_."

_Eh?_ "What's one of those?"

"Saeko, she's run off without thinking it through… _too…hasty_…" We're puffing for breath and the fire extinguisher is already getting heavy in my hands. _Perhaps, something else would work __**better**__ for me… Wonder what would happen to a zombie that got hit by a __**car**__…_

* * *

><p><span><em>Sarah<em>

Charlotte was _still_ droning on, "…was still living in dorms when I got out, I wanted a relationship, so I went to live with him, but I was so afraid to lose my oldest friend and supporter. Anyway, I got the relationship. We were, well, lovers. The problem was that I didn't end up just dating _him_; I ended up dating his _fiancée_ as well. Having sex with _both_ of them, while wearing a pink, a red and a puce doily; all without telling _either_ of them, about my relationship with their kettle; until it… became a _threesome_, or was it a_ dodecahedra-some_. Of course it all fell apart _eventually_, so I left.

"Luckily by then Sarah was in her second year, so I moved in with you two, and started having wild monkey sex with every guy or girl who knocked on the door. Except Alex, we just did the ferret dance, because I am _not_ speaking to Alex right now. The problem is, that I'm enjoying being with all the girls a _little_ more than I'm enjoying being with the purple lord of light! Trouble is I'm not sure what it all means!" _You're not the only one who's confused._

Becky smiled like a cat with the cream, "What that means is that _you're_ like _me_," and she started making out with Charlotte, while wearing a trio of leopard print doilies, while hanging from a chandelier made of chips.

Sarah just put her head in her hands and thought: _God, I need a drink. Or brain __**bleach**__ for __**fu–**_

I awoke with a start, when I heard someone scream, falling out of the chair as I spun to see what had happened, my head cracked into the floor. _Ouch. I must've drifted off listening to the people in the meeting. Weird dream, __**really**__ weird dream. Ow, owww. When did it start?_

I had gone as pale as a ghost, making the freckles on my face particularly vivid, rolling over I saw several people who staggered through the door. _There's something just __**wrong**__ about them._ But it wasn't until I noticed that they were grabbing the other attendees and biting them, that I froze with disbelief.

Strong hands grabbed me under my arms and pulled me back, and over, finally pulling me behind the makeshift barricade made by a tipped over table. Charlotte was yelling at me, and it took far too long to focus on what she was saying, "…wake up girl and defend yourself, the monsters are here to eat us!" _Stop __**shouting**__, my ears are ringing._

Becky appeared at my side with two wooden chair legs, one in each hand, she thrust one into my unresisting hands.

By the time I was even partially focused on what was happening, we were seriously outnumbered. Becky chirpily said "A hundred," and Charlotte started cursing with the creativity her varied experiences had left her with.

_God, the room is spinning. What happened?_ "Hun'red, wha?" I slurred. _I __**must**__ still be dreaming. Why does this dream __**hurt**__?_

"There's about a hundred of _them_ by my guess. There is about seven, no, six of us here now," Becky said this as they heard a scream from the other side room. _Oww, ringing._

"Wha' d'wed 'o?" _That didn't sound right._

"Five left, damn, no, only four of us in here now."

Becky and Charlotte were looking around hopelessly, I was swaying. Not quite able to focus on anything. _Oh, a zombie dream, cool, that's easy, we're __**doomed**__._ I giggled. "Dooom'd, doubly doom'd."

A crash came from the display of hard cider. A tall and distinguished dark-haired man in a suit with a small pin on his jacket had crashed into the table holding the display. The man grabbed one of the bottles that hadn't rolled off the table, opened and taken a large gulp of cider, all while recovering to his feet. _Enter the tormented hero._

Stumbling to his feet he dropped an MP3 player, the cord with its headphones hung from one ear. The MP3 players speakers sang out a familiar song, 'Everybody was Kung Fu, Fighting!' by Carl Douglas. Taking another swig, the man started to open a can of whoop-ass on the opposing zombies, in sync to the rhythm of the music. He proceeded to smash, crash and generally just kick the zombie's asses. _Cool. Drunken Fist Dancing! His fury knows no bounds, especially since it's fuelled by hard cider._

As the song was reaching its end, he used a table to do a flying kick that removed an offending zombies head from its neck and the recoil from that allowed his other leg to send another flying into a nearby wall.

I fuzzily realized, that of the hundred zombies Becky had counted, at that moment only three were still standing.

The man used two sticks to impale two of the zombies, and then did some weird windmill kick and sent the other one flying. As one, we straightened up as the lone last, zombie impacted face first into the concrete block wall with a satisfying crunch.

The man then took a bow, retrieved his music player as he did so and then drained the last of the hard cider from the bottle in his hand.

He introduced himself, "I'm Jaime, is _this_ the AA meeting?"

Becky breathlessly said, "My name is Becky, and I really should stop drooling over you like you're a piece of prime meat."

Charlotte said, "I like the meat." This got a blush from the man.

I could only blink, then I smiled, "Weely kool dweam," Charlotte caught me before I hit the floor.

Charlotte tutted before murmuring, "I think she hit her head. We should arm ourselves and make a plan. Staying here is probably going to be bad for our health." _I __**got**__ a plan. Oh–_

And a moment later I had my head in a trash-can and was puking my guts out.

Charlotte winced, but held my hair back stoically, "I _think_ I've got a plan, we stick _together_, no matter what. And we might _just_ make it through this."

Jaime composed himself, and with a devilish smile said, "I'm game ladies."

* * *

><p><span><em>Saeko<em>

Running down the corridor I stick to centre of it, as much as possible, darting from side to side to bring my bokken down against the heads of _them_ as I pass, there's no sense in getting too close to any of the doors and any who are lingering in the classrooms. There aren't enough of _them_ in the corridor to worry me, and I know where the cafeteria is, thanks to Emily's earlier instructions; hopefully the other girl is there, or nearby; the kawaii one, the one still finding who she is.

_This is glorious._

Every movement is like a choreographed dance. The sound of skulls being crushed under my sword, it's like the sound of the most perfect symphony, each one distinct and beautiful.

_I almost miss seeing the __**fear**__ on their faces, the cries of __**pain**__ from my hits. Can't have everything. Under any other circumstances, my actions would get me imprisoned for life._

_Not far now._

A turn, the cafeteria is ahead, somewhere around the next corner, the entrance should be to my left… Ash, _I wonder what that's short for?_, and Emily are keeping up, I can hear their occasional jumps to clear the bodies I am leaving behind me, as well as their pants and gasps for breath.

_Hopefully they won't be dead weight._

_Emily is smart, she'll probably think of some way to help me kill these things more efficiently._

_Ash… has bravery, but is it the right sort to fight…and __**kill**__._

_Perhaps; perhaps not._

At the next turn, the cafeteria, and its entrance, becomes obvious. There is someone fighting ahead, I recognise the sounds of combat.

There's a cross-corridor opposite the entrance to the cafeteria, but here are none of _them_ between me and the entrance, a few past it, heading away, but none in sight.

There could be a lot just out of sight, either in the side corridor or in the cafeteria. Neither one would be good news, one I'd have to fight through immediately; the other could reduce the number of escape routes.

_No hesitation, finish them._

I storm forward, angling to pass through the centre of the entrance without getting too close to the side corridor. She's there, on a table, kicking at them, keeping them away from her. _Smart, good._ Some are falling back, out of the crowd of them, when she kicks them. Those would be easy to take out.

But as I run forward to deal with some of those struggling to get back up off the floor, the nearest ones at the back of the crowd turns and starts coming towards me. _I gave no sound of approach, and they couldn't see me so how did they… did they sense my ki?_ I stop my advance. _I'll preserve my energy, and let them come to me._

As I clear each group that approaches, I take a new step forward, causing more of them to turn and come for me. _Ten– no, twelve metres, any further than that and they continue to go after the nearest possible victim rather than the most accessible._ Rather than trying to clear a path and being inundated, I simply keep stepping forward; each group of them coming for me, thins the numbers of those surrounding the other girl, and spreads them out as they can get closer from other positions.

Emily is stepping up beside me; she has a chair in hand, and is swinging it to knock some of them down.

I move to finish the first before it can get back up, but Ash is already there bringing a fire extinguisher down on its head with a surprisingly musical sound in addition to the crunch.

_They can manage._

"Behind you!"

I spin and swing blind, which almost takes the head off of one that had been getting close behind me. "Thanks Ash."

_Concentrate… focus on your training… flow from… one move… to the next… allow the impact…from the previous strike… to drive the next strike…_

* * *

><p><span><em>Angie<em>

_It's just shock, work it through._

_I have to get over __**this**__, Penny __**needs**__ me to be strong._

Something clatters to the floor; I'm enveloped in a hug. I can't do anything but cry _harder_. I need to hold onto _something_, and then I'm pulling her into my lap. My head finds her shoulder and I'm crying into it. I can't stop.

I've never killed anybody before, never even wanted to. It's why I'm a mechanic, not a soldier, why I work on things like electric cars for on-base transport in my spare time, and why I have no real knowledge about the maintenance involved with a reload magazine or a tank barrel.

Murmured words of comfort wash over me, and the tears and shock slowly fade to a manageable level that I can work through.

But now I've killed three people. One of whom had been trying to help Penny.

Penny curses above me, "Damn." I look at her, "Did you bring your cell phone in with you?" _My cell? It's in the glove box of the car. No._ I shake my head. "The phone behind the counter is busted, and my cell phone is in my purse."

I swallow to clear my throat, "Where's your purse?"

"Outside. In the Car."

"Oh." It registers, _slowly_. _We can't call for help._ "…_Fuck_."

_Situation Normal: All Fucked Up._

"We're safe for now though. The doors are sealed; the windows are covered by shutters. There's nothing to show that there is even anybody in here."

"Safe." I look away. _Maybe, but…_ "…only because the three people closest to us are dead."

"They were going to kill me! You can't blame yourself. "

"Who _else_ is there to blame?" I wasn't going to argue with her about this, my guilt was mine, and nothing could change that.

"Thank you." She caught my face between her hands and pulled it until I was looking into her face. "Thank you Angie, for saving my life. Caring enough to put my life over any guilt that you may have thought you'd feel for what you did." I couldn't parse that, it didn't make sense. I had _killed_ people and she was _thanking_ me. But her gratitude and love filled her face. I tried to turn away, her grip strengthen to keep me looking at her. Anger filled her face. "I'm not _done_." I stopped trying, and her face relaxed. "I'm not saying it because my love has _blinded_ me to what you've done, but because I could see what happened to Cole," my blank look interrupts her flow, "the clerk who came to help. He was _bitten_, he _changed_, life _left_ his face and _hunger_ filled it. You _couldn't_ have stopped them _any_ other way. They would have just kept coming for us. Until either _we_ died, or _they_ were stopped."

She releases my face, hugs me close and whispers in my ear, "I thought I was going to _die_, you saved _me_. I'll _never_ be able to repay that. So, _thank_ you."

Tears start to leak out from my face again. _She doesn't hate __**me**__ even though __**I'm**__ a __**murder**__._

Penny stands up, _No, don't go._ "Come on let's get in the back. There aren't any windows back there, so it's more… defensible." She pulls me to my feet then guides me through a door and into darkness.

* * *

><p><span><em>Missi<em>

When the others arrived, I'll admit I was shocked, OK, Ash yeah I could see _her_ running to save me, but Emily, _Saeko_? I mean come on what were the chances of a girl who didn't particularly like me and a girl who hardly knew me coming to help me.

Admittedly I missed their arrival initially, I only really noticed when the crowd of zombies around me became so thin that I could kick one in the face, and have a clear space to jump through to the floor.

Which hadn't been the case since I first climbed up on the table. _That's_ when I saw them, my saviours, and Emily.

Ash and Emily were working together, Emily would knock one down with a chair, Ash would then hit them in the head with a fire extinguisher. Ash looked ill, as if what she was doing was too horrific for her. Emily looked strained and tense.

On the other hand Saeko was moving with a fluidity and grace that was worth a second, even a third glance. She was surrounded by a veritable wall of the dead zombies. Her expression would have sent chills up my spine, except I was all out of chills.

I kept kicking, until a space opened up, one that was towards the others. No way was I running around the table, past and around zombies to get to them. As soon as I saw it, the space, I jumped.

"It's been nice, but you _really_ don't know how to treat a girl."

_The zombies came after me._

_Well, of __**course**__ they did._

_Dumb zombies. Don't they know __**better**__ than to chase the girl whose friends are ready to __**rescue**__ her?_

_Apparently not._

"Time to go!"

I run towards the entrance. _The A/V room, if it's unlocked we can hide in there._ I run through the entrance heading straight across. The A/V room is the first door on the right. I can hear the others behind me, I glance to my left. _Holy shit! More of them! _Okay there's only a couple and their headed away from me, but– _Why __**are**__ they headed away?_

But the corridor ahead is clear and the door is right there–

"NO!" _Wha– Ash–?_

Someone collides with me from the right. We hit the floor together. They're on top of me. I can't help it. I scream.

Surprisingly, so do they.

I stop. So do they. I look up at them.

"Oh, hey, Rachel. _Good_ to see you're, _like_, _still_ alive. Would you _mind_, you know, getting _off_ me?"

Rachel rolls off me. _I can breathe._ "Locked." Emily is checking the A/V room door.

"Could've told ya that." Rachel is panting, I clamber up. _Today would be the day I wear a halter top and a mini-skirt, wouldn't it._ "Sorry for groping you."

"I… didn't notice." _Seriously, when did she manage that?_

"Oh… Damn… I could've gotten away with it."

"Rachel?"

"I've been running around the last ten minutes, trying to find a place to hide and stay ahead of them. No luck on the first, plenty on the second."

"Wait. Stay ahead… how far ahead of them, were you?"

"Um, about twenty yards, Ash."

I look, so does Ash. "INCOMING!" Ash swings the fire extinguisher hitting the first zombie in the head with it. There are a huge number of them; some from the cafeteria, the rest are coming from the corridor we passed.

Rachel scrambles to her feet; Emily opens a nearby fire cabinet and pulls out the fire axe. Rachel reaches past Emily and quickly grabs the fire-hose. _Oh! Good idea. _"Everyone! Behind me!" I grab her round the waist, to hold her steady.

Emily turns the tap inside the cabinet. The hose fills with a _whoosh_.

Rachel initially just drenches all the nearby zombies in front of us. Then she turns the nozzle and the jet of water becomes ever more concentrated, and zombies start to go flying. _Yeah!_ "That's the way to do it!" It's harder to keep her where she is now. Rachel is sweeping back and forth, blasting those still on their feet down. Some hit walls and floors and don't struggle; others try to get back up.

"Left to right! And don't hit me!" Saeko strides forward behind the latest sweep, and starts to finish those still moving off, Ash moves forward as well, reluctance in every motion, to help.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_We're watching from Above_

A young soldier bursts into the hastily set-up crisis management room. "_Sir!_ Sir, the satellites are on station."

"…This is Mike Mogford, for CBS, reporting live from–" The TV has just been muted, as there's no longer any need to hear the news round-up anymore.

"Excellent." The voice is as deep as a well and growls like an aggressive dog as it is issued from his mouth. He's a Colonel from the Air Force and is acting as Forward Air Command, being the highest ranked member of the armed forces in the area he is also the man in charge of the local response to the crisis.

Further down the hall, the survivors are being herded into lines for counting and interviewing. Some are uninjured, but in shock, like the doctor of gynaecology in the lab coat. Some are completely incoherent with fear for their loved ones, like the woman whose hard years have added more years to her early thirties age face and disposition. Contrasted with them are those people who have sustained injuries, like the woman with the long blond hair, with a broken arm, being shepherded by a man with a welsh accent.

* * *

><p><span><em>Emily<em>

As I turn off the flow of water, Ash is shivering from the spray that has soaked her. It isn't _too_ bad yet, the day _has_ started to warm up, but if she stays damp for too long she's likely to get catch a cold or get ill… and then where will we be then? It doesn't help that she's not the only who who's damp, or completely soaked in Rachel, Ash and Saeko's case. If we were having a wet t-shirt contest, I'd easily be the only one who hadn't entered.

So first problem: everybody needs a change of clothes. Second problem: how to suggest it in such a way, that Missi _doesn't_ bite my head off… _I know…_

"Does anybody have a change of clothes with them?"

Ash looks at me like I've lost my marbles, "Well, _yes_, I have gym today, so my gym clothes are in my locker."

"Anybody else with clothes for them to change into?"

"_Why_ is this important, _Emily?_"

"Well, Missi, I'd prefer it if you all could remain in good health so I don't end up fighting alone."

"What's _that_ got to do with _anything?_"

"Missi, I case you _haven't_ looked _down_… wet t-shirt contest." _Thank __**you**__, Rachel._

"_Oh_."

"Personally, _no_, I _don't_ have a change of clothes." _So that's Rachel._

"I've a jacket in my locker…" _…and Missi. Two._

I look at Saeko, she almost seems _amused_ by the question. "No." _Three_.

"So three people need clothes to change into, and Ash would probably be better off in something other than shorts and a t-shirt. We need _clothes_."

"…We could travel to our home–"

"Ash, think about it for a moment. Which is closer: _any_ of our homes, or town _itself_?"

"Town's closer. A lot closer actually." _Thanks Rachel._

"Exactly, we hit some stores take some clothing, _hope_ that we can then push on, out of town and that the…" _say it,_ "…_zombies_, are a _very_ localised phenomena and are _not_ all over the country."

"Okay… but how do we get to town?"

"Well Ash. You're a racer, I thought we could take a car from out of the parking lot and that you could drive it."

"_Take_… a _CAR?_"_ Uh, oh._ "I _FIX_ CARS, _RACE_ 'EM. NOT _STEAL_ 'EM! I DON'T KNOW _HOW_ TO HOT-WIRE ONE AND I DON'T _KNOW_ ANYBODY THAT _COU_–"

"I do."

I'm so frozen from Ash's reaction to my suggestion that I don't notice who interrupted.

Rachel breaks from her shock first and clues me in, "You, Missi, know how to _hot-wire_ a car."

Missi just nods, I would have expected her to look smug. Only, she doesn't. "Shall we get moving then?"

We start walking cautiously through the school, towards the parking lot.

"I could kiss you."

"I'd prefer it if _Ash_ kissed me, no offence Saeko." _You– I–_

"None taken."

"_I_ take offence!"

"You can't win Em." _You're backing __**her**__ up, Ash! You–_

"You _want_ it!"

"Not particularly." _Not particularly! What's that supposed to–?_

"Now _I'm_ interested." _Wha–_

"Trust me Saeko, the tangled lives of this trio of teenage girls, is not for you or me to attempt to understand." _Thank you Rachel, for putting the __**brakes**__ on this situation. I'm not sure that I–_

_That I could __**what?**__ Defend my claim?_

_I am __**not**__ in __**love**__ with Ash._

_I prefer __**boys**__._

…**Don't I?**

"…Still interested." _You– You– You–_

"…You want in? On the betting pool?" _Wait. Betting pool?_

We all come to a halt. Ash looked almost as horrified as I feel. "There's a _pool?_"

"Yeah: first, who wins;" _wins __**what?**_ "second, who comes out of the closet _first_;" _the clos– oh. __**Shit!**_ "third, who locks _lips_ together first;" _has it been obvious to __**everybody**__ for– since before summer vacation?_ "there's a forth, but I can't remember what it's about."

"_Please_, Rachel, _tell_ me you're _kidding_?"

"Of _course_ I'm kidding. I don't expect anybody else to even twig to it before _prom_ rolls around."

_Wait__**, what?**_

"…How long have you known for?"

"Well, Ash, I suspected for _months_. The rumours aren't exactly 100% reliable, but they _could_ be interpreted in _certain_ ways. What Missi and Emily said crystallised it. But I was only certain when I saw Emily's relief at my derailing Saeko's first attempt at flirting. Your later reaction, along with Missi's and Emily's face, when I raised the possibility of a betting pool, just made it _too_ obvious."

Ash is going purple in the face. "Ash." She looks at me. "Rachel." The wry smile that Rachel was wearing fades to nothing. "Now is not the time to get _angry_, or to _poke fun_ at others expense. There are undoubtedly zombies between us and the parking lot, probably more _in_ the parking lot; we must be able to work and function as a _team_. Otherwise not all of us are going to get out of this _alive_."

Rachel nods, holds out her hand to Ash and says, "I apologise for making you feel uncomfortable, and for manipulating you."

Ash looks at it for a moment, and then takes it, "I accept your apology in the spirit in which it is given."

"Let's get on with it!" _Oh, Missi, whatever will we do with you?_

* * *

><p>And so we advance through the school. We don't encounter as many zombies as I would expect, perhaps we dealt with all the nearby ones?<p>

_Nah._

_More likely, they can't keep up, or have gotten themselves into corners that they can't get out of._

_Which is good news for us, 'cause I'm not sure how much __**more**__ of this Ash could take. She's really not suited to… well, killing people. Even in self-defence. When they're __**zombies**__._

I'm in front of our little group, I still have the fire-axe, mostly I'm using it to knock zombies over, Ash then follows up with the fire extinguisher. _I kind of wish that Missi or Rachel took over, but Ash is far too chivalrous to allow a girl to do what a guy can do __**for**__ her._ _I would remind her… but who knows how this will end. This could __**easily**__ be __**another**__ misfile… except, Rumisiel is on __**Earth**__._ _Who else could make such a… well, __**cock-up?**__ But who can I __**ask?**_

Rachel is moving from door-to-door with another fire-axe, checking each room before shutting the door. Some still work, and knowing which rooms are safe, secure and free of zombies could be important if more of _them_, than we can handle, come round the corner.

Missi has grabbed a mop out of a Janitors' closet and is using it to keep any zombies that get knocked down, down, until Ash or Saeko can deal with them. _She'll have to leave it behind when we get a car… __**if**__ we get a car. I've no idea how she'll get into one, or how long we'll have before more zombies come for us._

Saeko is acting as rear-guard; she has the skills and the disposition to hold that position alone. _…she __**is**__ starting to freak me out, though._

Missi pauses at a locker, dialling in a combination before pulling out a jacket. _I was __**kind**__ of hoping it would be __**armoured**__ and covered in __**spikes**__… but no, it's a fairly ordinary summer-weight fabric jacket, which if anything shows off just as much as her top does anyway. At least it's __**dry**__ so I can't see her little-bitty-titties._ "Come _on_, Missi!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

_Why do they–_ _Not the time!_

* * *

><p>We stop at the entrance.<p>

"Clear." I announce, the corridor past the entrance is empty.

"Clear." Rachel announcing the barrenness of the corridor she's spent ten minutes running down.

"Clear…" _CRUNCH_ "now." Saeko finishing off a zombie that had been catching up with our slow progress.

Ash is looking out of the glass doors at the cars in the parking lot. "…Damn there aren't any five-seaters in the student lot."

"There are plenty in the teacher's lot, it's nearer too."

"Well yeah, Missi but–"

"They're also easier to get into."

"Huh?"

"How many racers do you know that put extra security on their babies?"

"…I don't know any that don't."

"Mr Walker drives that old beater, in which the worst I'll have to deal with is the lock on the door. Now it won't be fast–" Ash snorted, "or particularly nimble but it should be in grade-A condition, and start without too much difficulty."

"…Or be limping from one repair to the next."

"When did you become such a pessimist, Ash?"

"Um…"

"Wait, Rachel, you knew Ash _before_ she got all…"

"Well, _no_, only by reputation, XR4Ti Ash, the _fearless female_ _King_ of the Mountain."

"_King_?"

"Local racers title, Saeko, best High school racer at three schools. Here, of course, but also–"

Saeko held up her free hand, "I'm not that interested."

Into the silence Missi chirped, "So we decided? Mr Walkers car, the forth one along; the one with the, out of place, green rear door."

"If you can get it started…"

"Can't be any harder than Tom's old Acura." She patted down the pockets of her jacket, "I've got everything I need so… whenever the rest of you are ready."

Ash takes a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"Saeko, if you could clear the way and run interference while we make the run…?"

"I am up for that."

"Missi, doors and engine start, those are your only aims. Ash, Rachel and I will watch your back. Ash drives."

Missi pouts slightly, "Not a bad plan."

* * *

><p>We were lucky with the car, it took only a few moments for Missi to pop the lock and then reach around unlock all the other doors, thirty seconds later Missi had hot-wired the engine into life, it chugged away with a slight whine. There were a few zombies out there, but nowhere near as many as my <em>most<em> pessimistic thoughts would have had out there, facing us.

Ash passed the fire extinguisher to Missi before running round the front of the car and leaping into the front seat. I got into the middle of the back seat, Rachel got in on my left and Saeko got in to my right after running down another zombie. Each of us had put our weapons between our legs, Saeko's wooden sword jammed right up against the roof of the car.

Ash dropped the car into gear, and moved off gently, the whining increased until she upped the revs when the uneven chugging smoothed out and the whine vanished, she up shifted but kept the revs high.

We were just about to hit the crossroads that bookended the high street when Ash asked, "Any preferences?"

"What?"

"For the shop? Practical clothing is going to be our best bet, but do any of you have any preferences in that regard?"

"Triangle Mall's probably the best choice then." Ash pulls to a stop at the crossroads. "Ash, I know it's a stop line put you don't have to–"

A large pirate ship, passed by in front of us, travelling from right to left, it wasn't moving particularly fast. It must have been a parade float of some sort, but I couldn't see any propulsion at all from my viewpoint.

"Was that–?"

"A pirate ship? Yes."

"Did you see the naked woman on the front?" Missi sounded shocked.

Ash did a double take, "Na-naked?"

"I was too busy, getting 'Pirates of the Caribbean' vibes."

"Perhaps we should get moving?"

"Yeah, OK, Rachel. …Today has been _really_ surreal." Ash drives on pulling up right in front of the Triangle Mall. It isn't really a mall, more of a modern interpretation of the traditional Arcade, but while Triangle Arcade is more correct I suppose it didn't market as well.

"OK if you see a zombie, knock it down and kill it. Grab anything that's practical in roughly the right size for you, we'll rendezvous at the changing rooms."

"Who died and made you Queen?"

"Why Missi …a lot of people actually."

"Sorry, stupid question."

* * *

><p>We head in, nothing much happened: Missi found some decent jeans and a much better jacket; Saeko found a skirt and blouse combo that worked for her; Rachel found some more practical clothing and Ash grabbed a pair of boots that would not have been much out of place in a punk music video.<p>

The only thing of note was when they were getting changed, and before we started heading back to the car: 'Why is it that _every_ _time_ I have to try on clothes, I end up looking at a _half-naked_ poster of my _MOM?_'

* * *

><p><span><em>Rei<em>

Standing in the street, I know that I can't run any further; my legs feel weak and shaky. The situation around me, it is complete chaos. A helicopter is passing overhead, even as zombies begin to surround me.

Waving and shouting, to the helicopter, she stumbles to a stop. _They're_ too close and coming closer, the _things_. I curse myself for not keeping my eyes on them, and readies myself to fight, _I haven't a choice, either I fight …or I __**Die**__._

The first one I hit across their temple bring it down in one movement, as the broom reached the limit of my range of motion it swung up and down on a diagonal into the second. Backing up I watched for the next one to pass within range of the broom.

_Tired, so tired…_

A third takes a blow at the knee that brings it down, stabbing downwards with the broom handle its skull _pop_s with a sound that didn't quite register on her mind, too busy watching and evaluating.

_Can't go on much longer…_

The helicopter drops down, almost knocking her over with its backwash, even as it opens up with a machine gun and starts to clear a swathe through the horde of zombies.

Someone in a uniform in the back of the helicopter waves for me to get on.

I run, stumbling on tired legs, throwing myself aboard, the uniformed woman grabs me under the arms, pulling me further inboard and then threading a strap around me. Tightening the strap down, she yells, "I'VE GOT HER! GO!" The helicopter smoothly moves forward and gain altitude and the guns fall silent.

I'm still holding onto the bloody broom as I pull myself to my knees, supported by the woman. _It's a lot bloodier now_.

The American girl, who shouted at me to run, is on-board as well, sat leaning against a strut with an arm wrapped around it.

I shout over the noise of the rotors and engine, "I SEE YOU SURVIVED!"

The girl gives me an amused smile, before replying the same way, "SAME! NAME'S MICHELLE."

"REI." Another man is there as well, he looks sad and depressed, and he's wearing some sort of armour, "HI, WE HAVEN'T MET. MY NAME IS REI."

"…DAVIS."

* * *

><p><span><em>The Military Response<em>

A young-looking soldier working at a computer made an announcement, "Sir, DI has passed some analysis to us." A whirring began as a printer started to spit out comparison images and reports.

"So the Directorate of Intelligence at the CIA finally got up off their ass. Let's have it then."

"First, zombies are noticeably cooler in temperature then normal people; they show up on infra-red as a reddish-orange, while the uninfected show up as oranges and yellows." Another soldier was collecting the pages and collating them before putting them on the side of the planning table. The table had an electronic map on it that was being updated in real-time, with icons denoting the location of every military vehicle in the area.

"Go on."

"The temperature of the zombies seems to be highly regulated as there is so _little_ variation in it."

Their Colonel grunts, "Makes sense."

"Second, we can identify the _newly_ infected–"

"How?"

"Temperature again, sir. The newly infected temperature rises, well _beyond_ the human norm, before _crashing_ back down to zombie temperatures. We can _see_ this, sir; they turn _white_ on infra-red. There's some speculation as to how long it _takes_ to become a zombie, for some people it seems to take a very long time before their temperature crashes, it's not known if they are zombies until after their temperature crashes or not."

"And it's far too risky to attempt to capture one in the process…"

"And inhumane do subject someone else to a zombie's bite."

"I don't even want to hear anything even resembling such a _suggestion_, _lieutenant_." The Colonel glared at the soldier in question.

"Sir!"

A woman in plain clothes chipped in, "From our interviews with survivors: we know that a bite infects, but so does a zombie blood in open wounds, how long each takes–"

"Speculation about such things is meaningless."

"Well… yes, I suppose it is…"

"How many have we managed to evacuate?" The Colonel redirected her thoughts.

"About five thousand of the inhabitants. A lot are from the outskirts, the medical facilities, and some of the schools…"

"_Some?_"

"The high school." She grimaced. "It was one of the initial points of contact."

"Damn."

"But with the satellite overheads we can identify pockets of survivors and evacuate them forthwith, sir." A man with wings on the lapel of his uniform suggested.

"Do so, ASAP."

"Sir!" The man saluted, and marched from the room.

"We can't evacuate them all." The woman protested.

"No, but we can reduce the number of zombies we have to face by doing so."

"Sir! Initial analysis of the numbers." The first soldier spoke up, obviously looking to redeem himself.

"…And there's the downer. Let's have it then." The soldier's hope was in vain.

"According to the town records, the population was eight-thousand, one-hundred and nine. The number of evacuated people stands at five-thousand, two hundred and twelve."

"Well that maxes out the number of possible zombies at… fewer than three thousand, good news."

"Um, sir, there was an RPG convention happening in the town…"

"Christ, how many?"

"We don't know sir. There are still _two_ survivors but the _rest_…"

"Shit. FUBAR."

"We've totalled up the number of survivors at one-hundred and thirty-nine, the largest concentration of which are at the high school. This is also…"

"What?"

"Well, sir, form the overheads it appears that the majority zombies are heading towards the school _en masse_."

"Damn."

"Yes, sir. Approximately there are five-hundred dead and two-thousand, six-hundred and sixty zombies." The soldier swallowed, before continuing, "…Interestingly every time we manage to evacuate a group of survivors the remaining zombies head towards the next nearest group of survivors."

"That… could be very useful to us."

"Sir?"

"Evacuate as many of the survivors as possible, and try and find out what kills a zombie, if you can."

"That last part is easy sir." A look from the Colonel got him to elucidate, "A head injury seems to kill them; presumably severe damage to the nervous system would stop them as well."

"So… head shots, neck breaking, decapitation and incineration… Not the sort thing that's easy against a large number of opponents, especially since they're all US citizens. I wonder if high explosives work…"

"Sir?"

"Get a snake to drop an amount of C-4, with a short timer, into a group of zombies. If that kills 'em we'll have found our best weapon against them."

"A snake, sir?"

"Sorry, Air Force term, a helicopter."

"Right away, sir!" He saluted before running to the communications desk to get the order out.

* * *

><p><span><em>Penny<em>

Since we sat down half an hour ago, here in the back of the store, I've been holding Angie's hand. At the start she was holding my hand so tightly, but now her hand is relaxed in mine. I've just sat beside her as she worked through all of what was troubling her, I'd given her my words, then I just had to wait and see if they would help.

Hope that she would feel my silent _support_.

Hope that she would feel my _love_.

Hope that she wouldn't choose to _withdraw_ into her shell.

It's burning a hole in my pocket. It has been ever since she saved my life. _Would it help? Would it cause more problems? …Would she refuse it? How long can I sit on this? It wouldn't be __**fair**__ if I didn't make my intentions clear._

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks for standing by me Penny."

_I care for her._

_I __**love**__ her._

_Have courage…_

I stand up slowly, pulling her with me. "Are we going somewhere?"

"No, just moving around a little." _Don't you __**dare**__ chicken out! __**ASK HER!**_ "Angie…?"

"Yes?"

_If I could see that smile for the rest of my life, I would be happy in the face of __**any**__ and __**all**__ opposition._ I drop to one knee, still holding her hand.

"Penny?"

I reach into the pocket of my jeans; it feels hot to my hand. I look up into her confused face. "I know this isn't the best time to ask, but I want to make my intentions clear to you."

I finger the ring until the diamond is uppermost, I raise it slowly and it catches the light, and _sparkles_.

"Will you marry me?"

* * *

><p><span><em>Ash<em>

We clamber back into the car. I hold the clutch down while Missi starts fiddling with the cables she pulled free earlier, the engine _buzzes_, but doesn't catch. There's a grunt then a _zap_ and Missi is pulling back and has her fingers in her mouth.

"Fuck! Ow." She mumbled around her fingers.

"Missi, lock your door."

"Huh?"

"They're arriving." She looks out the windscreen.

"Oh… shit!" A quick scramble for the interior lock mechanism before it clunks into place.

I glance into the back, Rachel has already locked hers, Emily looks nervous and uncomfortable in the middle and Saeko… is watching and considering something.

"Saeko?" She meets my eyes. "Door lock." She thinks for a moment then locks the door. "Thank you. Missi? Any time _now_ would be good."

"If's noef ach eashi ach if loocech."

"What?" She pulls her fingers out of her mouth. Examines them for a moment–

"Singed, not burned. It's not as easy as I make it look."

"I know that–" THUD, the first zombie is trying to climb up onto the bonnet, it's managed to plant its face on the windscreen and is now sliding down towards the ground, struggling for a grip as it goes. "But not all of them are going to _just_ fall off…"

"Some will come round and start hitting the side windows… how long do you think these windows will last?"

"A minute? Two maybe? Not long Saeko, either way."

"So any time _now_ would be _absolutely_ brilliant Missi." Missi huffed and started fiddling with the wires again, another buzz, then nothing but mumbled curses, emerged from near my right knee. The zombies were starting to pile up on the front, held up by those behind, and the height they were able to reach started to get ever higher. "No pressure whatsoever Missi, but–" A zombie hits my window, it doesn't crack but I jerk at the sound. "ANY-TIME MISSI!" There's another _buzz_ then a _whine_ and a _cough_ as the engine finally turns over.

I drop it into gear, rev the engine well above what it could need to get us moving then raise the clutch to bite point. The engine groans and I back off.

"There's too much weight on the front of the car, you can't get the momentum to get us moving forward."

"Thanks for that Em." I switch into reverse. "How low can you get Em.?"

"Huh?" I lean around the seat so I can see out of the back.

"I'm going to reverse, and I don't trust that the mirrors will be there for long."

"Oh." Wide eyes as she moves as close to Rachel as she can get. I stomp on the gas, releasing the clutch and with a jerk half the zombies fall off the front. And we're moving, not _fast_ and we're _really_ heavily front loaded. _And in this piece-of-shit front-wheel drive…_

_Not enough room to turn around– ZOMBIE!_

I jerked the steering wheel, moving the car out of the way of the lurching zombie, the car wallows like an old muscle car without a roll cage. _If I hit them going backwards they might shatter the back window, or just obscure my view of the road, which would be just as– ZOMBIE!_ I was having a hard time avoiding them.

"We've shed the last off the front!"

"Thanks!" _I'm going to have to keep backing up until there's space to manoeuvre– CROSSROAD._ I spin the wheel, and pull the handbrake, a perfectly executed handbrake turn, the front swings round and hits one of the infected. "_Crap_!" I drop the car into first gear, and take off.

"It's alright to _hit_ them, _you know_." _Second_.

"All my training says that I'm not _supposed_ to hit people with cars, Rachel." _Third_.

"Well, _okay_, but can you make an _exception_ for the _zombies_?" _Down-shift for the turn.… __**Now**__, second._

"I didn't know you were so… blood thirsty, Missi."

We're headed back towards the school, and there aren't any other side roads. I floor it. The engine whines at the extra effort I ask of it. _Third, wait for it… forth._

A helicopter and then a second zips past overhead, heading in for the school roof, where I can just about see the class. When they move away from the roof I can't see the class there anymore. "_Shit_! We _missed_ 'em!"

And that is when things went from _bad_, to, well, _tragic_.

* * *

><p><span><em>RPG<em>

My brother Davis has always been an obsessive exerciser. For years he has strived for fitness until he looks like he could be a professional athlete, or a personal trainer. But that isn't what he does, far from it. He's a materials scientist, working to make new polymers and compounds, discover potential uses for them and then attempts to find an efficient method of manufacture.

Add in his personal hobby, and you can see why he has reputation for having the best armour of anybody at the conventions.

It's nowhere near being historically accurate, being custom designed for both protection and flexibility. It has a sort of scaled look to it, as if he'd skinned a huge metal dragon and cut its skin to cover him. It currently covers his chest, upper arms, elbows, neck, groin, thighs and knees. Every year he adds to it, after spending _months_ prototyping new designs for additional parts.

Under the armour he wears a custom bodysuit; it's skin-tight and protects him from the armour pinching him it's also stupidly good at absorbing impacts, but it also regulates his body temperature reducing the chance of him overheating.

He made me a similar suit, which I usually wear, under the clothes that the role I play would wear. It reduces chafing.

His boots though were commissioned for him by his ex-fiancée.

* * *

><p>Davis is adding to his armour from the equipment that I grabbed during our exodus from the convention hall. He's already added a set of gauntlets with wrist guards and a pair of shin guards. And now he's examining a helmet, though he hasn't put it on yet.<p>

The replica war hammer I used is lying on the floor well within reach of his hand; he's ready for whatever comes.

I'm still sat where I've been since he asked his last question. I haven't moved since I sat down, the shield I used in the hall is besides me and Davis put a replica Gladius, a Roman short sword, besides it.

Davis finally breaks the silence, "Any word from Sam, at all?"

"No."

He pauses; I just know what he's going to say long before he works up the courage to ask. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"It's not your fault." I snort at that.

"Yes it is."

"No, it _isn't_."

"I killed them." _All of them._

"_They_ attacked you."

"_I_ went and destroyed the defences. All those people who had _nothing_ to do with it, _died_, because _I…_ _lost_… _my…_ _FUCKING… __**TEMPER**_."

"Still not _your_ fault. How many of _them_ just stood by and watched Greg try to kick the stuffing out of you?"

"…Still doesn't mean they deserved to die."

"One of the fucking morons let one of those zombie things in and they didn't even try to stop it reaching you!"

"Neither did _you_."

Davis grimaces, "…I was trying to stop Jason running out like the coward he is." That got a raised eyebrow from me, my first expression since I sealed the hall, "Didn't work."

"Wouldn't have expected it to."

"You're not a psychopath, you didn't enjoy doing it." A typical Davis non sequitur, before I can reply or retort, he continues as if he had never said it, "So what's next?"

"Next?"

"We're safe here for _now_, but eventually they'll come through that door, and even together we can't shove a thousand of those zombies back alone. So, _how_ are we getting out?"

"Why don't _you_ come up with a plan for _once_?"

"Not my thing."

_True_. I think for a moment in silence, then it hits me. "Presumably, if this isn't _everywhere_–"

Davis interrupts, "No guarantee of _that_."

"No, but hear me out. If they _aren't_ everywhere, then the government would be preparing to take action–"

"Shit. They'll bomb us to kingdom come." I was expecting that reaction.

"Perhaps, but first they'd try to evacuate survivors…"

Davis thinks about this for a moment. "But they'd have the same problem that we have, how to get to us. That means that we need to get clear of the building. As fast as possible."

"Or get to the roof. It's a flat roof so we'd need to climb up, from outside. Once there the zombie's can't get to us so we're safe until we get picked up."

"That's… ingenious. So we just need to get outside and stay far enough ahead of them to climb up." A thought occurs to him, "Uh…"

"How do we get out?" A nod, "We fight our way out. Avoid as many as we can and take down any that we can't avoid. Don't leave any behind us to attack us from behind, and just… keep… moving."

"OK. When do we do it?"

"Sooner rather than later."

Davis stands and offers me a hand, "Now?"

"Sure. You go up on the roof first."

That gives him a pause; obviously he can't reason it out, "Why?"

"I'd never be able to lift your bulk from above."

His _oh_ expression, tells me he's taken my word at face value, "That's true." _I'll never be able to save enough people to repay the debt of blood on my hands. __**They**__ won't get Davis, no matter what._

Davis is putting a breathing mask over his mouth and nose, before raising the helmet he'd been examining and lowering it down over his head like a crown. As soon as it's in place, he becomes a faceless artefact of war, a machine with no observable emotions or aims, picking up the hammer merely reinforce the point. I strap the shield to my left arm, attach the short sword's scabbard and then draw it, a few practice swings and I'm ready.

I look at Davis, "Ready?" A nod from Davis confirms his readiness. "Go!" I unlock and open the door.

* * *

><p>Davis darts through first, the hammer smashing heads left and right with every swing. I'm right behind him, darting in to deal with those he hasn't seen with his restricted view from the helmet, or those that step in too close and can no longer be taken out with a swing. Darting around Davis, my running commands, and his smooth movements make it feel almost like we're doing some sort of elaborate dance. We take the left side of the corridor; we briefly get clear of the zombies when we take the right at the T-junction at the end of the corridor. We're back amongst them after we get down a half-flight of stairs, but there aren't anywhere as many here, and I can see the front door. It's so close it's tempting to run that way immediately, but there are so many of them between us and it. I garb Davis shoulder and pull him to the side and we sprint down a set of shelves, turn, between another set of shelves, one zombie taken down in passing, then a left and the way to the door is clear.<p>

As we sprint through the automatic doors, I raise the sword in my hand and smash the motion sensor. The door closes so close behind us I feel it clip the scabbard as it passes. I sheathe the sword, to leave my hands free.

There are zombies out here as well but none within fifteen metres of us, I turn and bodily pull Davis away from the zombies, his blood is up and he's _so_ ready to attack them, but it isn't part of _my_ plan, so he falls into line besides me, we're running towards a place where the roof is ever so slightly closer to ground.

I drop to one knee and cup my hands, giving Davis a stirrup. His boot lands in it cautiously, as he springs up, I stand and Davis gets his upper body up onto roof.

He hangs there a moment as I grab his feet and push him up. Something grabs me around the neck; I ignore it, whatever it is its less important than getting Davis to safety.

A zombie is biting into the padding of the bodysuit.

I heave upwards; Davis gets his hips up onto the roof.

The shield on my arm clunks into the zombie head, when I swing at it. It doesn't let go. A second zombie grabs me.

_It's cut my air off._

Davis swings round, his arms are lowered towards me, he hasn't realised that it's already hopeless.

The first zombie is pulling at my head, I can feel my vertebrae grinding. _It's over. Nothing I can do now._

I smile at Davis. _Can't breathe_. So I mouth the words to him, _'You're safe.'_

Darkness creeps into my vision, as the zombie tightens its grip. _Sam, I hope you're safe. I hope you never even got close to this H–_

CRACK


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Missi_

The engine just _died_. One moment it was _fine_, then the next: _zip_, finito, nada. Ash has stamped down on the clutch and is pumping the accelerator, "_Missi_?"

The cables I twined together are still connected, "Sorry Ash, there's no _reason_ for it to just _cut_ out."

"_Try_ to get it started again. Everybody else; put your seatbelts on."

"Why?"

"Well Saeko, I'm _losing_ steerage, and I don't trust the breaks to _work_ without the engine providing _power_." I unwind the cables then tap them together, nothing. "_Anything_ Missi?"

"Nothing, I can't do anything."

"Strap yourself in." Ash swallowed audibly, "This is going to get… bumpy." Ash down-shifted.

"How _bumpy_?"

"I'm _bleeding_ off as much of the speed as I can using the engine, but since we _were_ doing sixty…"

"How fast are going _now_?" I lean over to look.

"I don't know; all the instrumentation _died_ with the engine." Ash down-shifted again.

"Er, Missi?"

"Yeah, Saeko."

"You _might_ want to sit more properly in your seat."

"_Huh_?"

"Turn, _damn_ _**you**_!" I look first at Ash, who's wrestling with the steering wheel, then out the windscreen–

Right at the sign for Tempest High School.

_Yeah._

The one made of concrete.

CRUNCH, SCREECH, CLUNK, CLATTER

* * *

><p><span><em>Sarah<em>

I'm staggering along the corridor. At least I _think_ I am. There might be two corridors that keep wobbling about and intersecting, or I _might_ just have a concussion. Either way, it feels a lot like there is too much inside my skull and all it wants' to do is escape out my _ears_.

Jaime is ahead of me, up the corridor a-ways, knocking zombies down. Becky is with him and using a purloined fire-axe to finish them off. I stick close to the wall, first, because it means I don't have to try and step over the zombies, which with my balance _shot to shit_ is probably a good idea, and second, I need the support of the wall to stagger along for anything more than a crawl.

There's an awfully _large_ amount of bodies on the floor.

I can't really see how Becky is finishing them off, but I would guess from the amount of blood all over the place, that she's burying the axe-head in their skulls.

_Glad I'm not the one doing it._

Charlotte's behind me, I _think_ she's keeping watching along the other approaches, but I daren't try to turn my head. Last time I did, I ended up on the floor with no memory of how I got there.

_I wish there was someone able to help me._

_They were making good progress_, I thought, _it couldn't be_ _**much**_ _further to an exit or a place that they could secure._

My hand lands on a door, as I transfer my weight on it, the door gives slightly, then falls open. I squeak in surprise. I fall through.

"Sarah!"

I hit the ground, my head rattles again. _Was that Charlotte?_

Something moves in the room, and then lands on me. I scream, not for very long, because it _hurts_ to scream loudly.

"Sarah!"

Something bites me, I can't get away.

_Too heavy help head hurts help its getting warmer help too hot help it hurts it help oh God help I'm burning up help what's happening HELP!_

There's a crunch and the weight on me is gone.

"_Sarah_!"

_Too hot burning hurts, head._

"Oh _God_, she's been _bitten_."

_Can't… think…_

"We can't just _kill_ her, she's our _friend_."

Then just as suddenly as the burning came, it's gone. In its place is nothing, no feelings of heat, cold, even pain is fading away. And a hunger is rising.

"…Kill …me …before …too …late."

Becky's brown eyes are suspended above me.

"Close your eyes."

The last thing I notice is that I can feel them, their positions their warmth it _calls to me_, I can see them even with my eyes close–

CRUNCH

* * *

><p><span><em>Angie<em>

My death grip on Penny's hand loosened a while ago. Her hand tightens on mine slightly.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks for standing by me Penny." _You'll never know how much it means to me._ She stands slowly, pulling me with her. "Are we going somewhere?"

"No, just moving around a little." _Oh, Ok._ "Angie…?"

I smile at her tentative question; _she wants to know if I'm really better_, "Yes?"

I see something change behind her eyes. Suddenly she's dropping to her knees, still holding onto my hand.

My hearts in my throat: _Is she alright? Is she ill?_ "Penny?"

No she's on _one_ knee. She's looking up at me. "I know this isn't the best time to ask, but I want to make my intentions clear to you."

She's raising her other hand, she's holding something in her hand; it _sparkles_; it's a ring, an _engagement_ ring.

"Will you marry me?"

Her face is _so_ hopeful, but there's also _determination_ in it. _She'll never stop asking, either I'll accept or I'll have to walk away from her forever._ _I_ _**can't**__ walk away; I need her support too __**much**__. But am I ready to say yes?_

"Angie?" Penny's face is falling into sadness.

_I'll do anything to stop that. But it's so selfish to want her for her support. She needs me just as much as I need her. You win, Penny. Like you always seem to._

"Yes."

* * *

><p><span><em>The Oval Office<em>

The Secretary of State, whose meeting this was supposed to be, had grown progressively paler, as the matters of diplomacy and international relations were put aside to discuss a growing domestic crises. The scheduled meeting had been interrupted by the National Security Advisor who had been completely panicked and unable to explain the situation. Members of the CIA, the National Security Agency, Air Force and Army had arrived shortly afterwards and brought the President up to speed. A constant stream of secretaries and messengers entered handed over a sheet or sheathe of paper and left the room equally quickly.

"How many evacuated?"

"Well over half the town's population, sir." The woman from the CIA said; her men were co-ordinating the gathering of information from survivors.

"How many left inside?"

"Less than a dozen, or so, left alive, sir. The remainder are either dead or …zombiefied." The man from the NSA said, their satellites and software was the main way they were tracking the spread of the zombies.

"How many of those?"

"About a thousand dead, sir, perhaps as many as two-thousand, two-hundred zombies."

"Though we have reason to believe that a large number of those are either _dead_ or contained, sir." The Air Force General stated, it was his plan, but he did have the support of everybody except the CIA.

"We can't tell the difference, using just thermal imaging from our satellites, what the difference between a live zombie and a dead one, sir. We have to wait and see if they move, and some are pressed up against walls and doors so they don't move enough for us to be able to tell." The NSA man seemed almost embarrassed by this oversight.

"You want me to authorise the use of military force against a civilian population… of our _own_ citizens?"

"Sir, if even _one_ gets away we won't be talking about a _dozen_ deaths, we'll be talking about _millions_. Potentially the whole world if they manage to cross the ocean." The Army General was personally conflicted about the course of action, but it was hard to tell from his demeanour.

"Sir, they're gathering in the area around the high school, we have no idea why or how long they'll keep doing so." The agency man was, most concerned about the spread of this crises.

"A single bombing run could take out the majority, sir. Then it's just a matter of mopping up." The Air Force General was almost wishing he could fly the mission.

"How many civilians in the immediate target zone?"

"Fewer than a half-dozen, sir." A page was handed to the Army General. "Four left now, sir."

"Can we evacuate them?"

"Unlikely, sir. We've already deployed as many forces on the ground as we had available. We've been able to decrease the area that we need to cover, but we're spread appallingly thinly. Should they manage to break through our line…?"

The President's head fell.

"The others?"

"Much more accessible, sir. We should be able to get to them during the mopping-up."

"Why can't we close up the perimeter further, start the mopping-up and give them a chance of getting out? Sir?" The advisor on National Security threw this out, more as sop to his pride and conscience than as a serious option.

"By the time we got anywhere near enough to offer support, they could be dead, or the zombies dispersed. No. Sir, if you're going to make the decision it needs to be soon, we need to fuel and load the aircraft." The Army General looked tired as he gave his opinion.

"I don't do this lightly." The President's head came up slowly, pain written in every line on his face. "Operation STOMP is authorised."

* * *

><p><span><em>Emily<em>

I don't know how Ash managed it, but somehow she managed to bring the car far round enough that we didn't plough into the sign head-on. She also slowed us down that the impact was survivable. However sitting in the middle of the back seat, it was nowhere near comfortable to be in any sort of impact, when I regained consciousness it felt like I'd been cut in half, by the lap belt.

I was better off than Saeko and Missi though, Saeko had managed to knock herself out on her sword, Missi had (presumably) bounced as far forward as the seat-belt would let her, and was now completely limp. All the windows on that side were completely shattered, and the door by Saeko was a very different shape to what it had been when we'd gotten in. Rachel was groaning and rubbing her neck, whiplash. Ash was slumped over the steering wheel. The handles of both mine and Rachel's axes were stuck between the front seats and the central console. It was then that I realised, the air-bags hadn't fired. _Oh God, please …_

"A– Ash? Missi? Saeko?" I shook Saeko until her head flopped towards me, she was bleeding from a head wound, and her forehead was no longer the right shape. I breathed in; it sounded more like a sob than anything else. "Ash? Missi? Please if either of you are alive… Please be alive."

"Ow. What about Saeko?"

I quickly check Saeko for breathing, a pulse, _anything_. "…She's not breathing and she hasn't got a pulse."

"Oh, God. Rescue breathing, CPR! That'll–"

I shake my head, "There isn't enough space, and… it looks like a significant skull fracture." I close Saeko's eyes. _Be at peace, wherever you are._

"Oh, God, oh god, oh god–"

I turn and shake Rachel, "Don't you _dare_ panic Rachel; there might be only two of us left, and… the zombies can't be far away." I unbuckle my seatbelt. _I seriously doubt this car is going anywhere._

"We're _so_ dead."

"Imagine yourself in _this_ situation, but in a _historical_ setting." Rachel was frozen with thought. _It's marginally better than the panic._ "…Rachel, what are you going to do next?"

"…Survive."

"Good, keep an eye out for zombies… and let me know if you smell gas or diesel."

"…'Kay."

Leaning forward; over the console, between the front seats; I check Missi, she's closer and easier to reach. _She's breathing, but it's not quite rig–_ "Owwie."

"Missi, you're alive! Thank God."

"…Hurts." _She sounds breathy._

"What hurts?"

"…Chest …neck."

"Quick guess: …broken ribs and whiplash. Are you able to move?"

"…Why?"

"Er… we're in a crashed car during the _zombie apocalypse_, and I'm worried that they can either get _in_ through the broken windows or that the car could _explode_ if the gas tank has leaked."

"…Good …enough. …Is …there …any …body …else …left?"

"I'm still here, Missi, keeping an eye out for them _beastly_ zombies."

"Saeko's _gone_, I don't know how Ash is _yet_," my voice breaks, I take a breath to settle my nerves. _Don't bury her until you __**know**__ she's dead. _"…but she hasn't responded yet."

"Er… not to interrupt or anything, Emily, but you know you asked me look out for zombies…" I look up and through the front windscreen I can see them, hundreds of them, coming round the school, _for_ _US_. "…well, they're coming."

I swallow, "I see them."

"Loath though I am Emily to point this out but… you're looking the wrong way." Shock rides through me.

"You mean there are _more_ behind the car?"

"Hundreds maybe thou– …wait, did you say _more_?"

"…We …'re …sur …roun …ded …then."

A buzzing reaches my ears. _It's not the car, and it __**can't**__ be the zombies. So what… Oh, I am a __**fool.**__ What will __**they**__ do…? _The sound of an explosion reaches my ears. _Bombing runs… on sufficient numbers of zombies… to make the loss of innocents worthwhile. We are __**so**__ dead._


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Celestial Filling Depository_

When the door of his office opened I didn't look up immediately, his gopher came and went without knocking and he no longer worried about taking note of him. _Which was probably why I can't remember the guys' na–?_ A folder slamming down, on top of what I'd been working on, breaks my train of thought. Annoyed at the interruption, I look up. The Angel looming over my desk has a shiny bald pate, and an expression of bureaucratic anger. _It's Terrael… or is it Philaniel? No Philaniel wears glasses. Why is __**he**__ here?_

"These files show up as having been _adjusted_." Terrael looms closer, "From _YOUR_ office."

I look down; the uppermost file is the one for 'Rei Miyamoto'. "Well, yes, I adjusted them. CFS Directive number 0/0.0.0.g1: no unscheduled apocalypses, except those defined in 0/0.0. . CFS Directive a/5.3.9.z0: zombies are to be prevented at all costs. CFS Direc–"

"Do you work with fiction?"

The question throws me, "Of course not, I work–"

"These were supposed to filed under fiction. Why did you adjust them and then have them filed into the female cabinets?"

I can't think, nothing makes sense. _How could I miss this? Why didn't any of the fail-safes stop it? It's __**not**__ my fault!_

"Fix it." I look up. Terrael stands there annoyed and angry. _I don't want to know what he wants to do to me._ "You look, _exhausted_, take some time off, recover your _wits_, you'll undergo remedial training to bring you up to par. Then you can get back to work, just so's long as you don't make any _more_ mistakes." He pauses, glancing at the file. "Perhaps find a different method of altering the file for the fiction, it doesn't read too well at the moment." He turned and began to walk out of my office. "Maybe you could add a male protagonist, name him something typically Japanese, something like Takashi." The door shut.

* * *

><p>For ten minutes I allowed myself to fall apart in private. Then I pulled myself up by my wings, and set to work, creating a new file, restoring the originals, and reading the front page of each file. In the top-right corner in italics it read: <em>Fiction – Future proposition.<em> I feel ill at the realisation that I missed it so completely. I place them gently in the out tray, with a note on top.

When my gopher arrives to file it he reads the note with a confused expression, before going pale. "Think you can put them in the correct cabinet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." I pass him what I've just finished working on. "These as well." He leaves quietly with a hint of depression in his gait. I pick up a new file. On the front tab it reads: _Misfile by Chris Hazelton_. I sigh, _why did this end up on my desk? No idea_. Flipping through I can't help but become interested in the story outlined, since it relates to my work. I smile at the depictions of certain colleagues. It doesn't yet have an ending, except as a concept, but these things take time. A second tab reads: _associated fan works_. _There's a __**lot**__ more detail here_. A quick check of the front of the file gives the reason, it being a web-comic. _Wonder what one of those is._ Flipping through the latter section I pass through many interesting stories; some more fun than others, some poor and some that have a label that I don't understand: _abandon-fic._ I reach a section labelled _Crossovers_, within that section a name registers, my own, causing me to stop skimming through it and read that entry from start to finish. The realisation that my notice is perfectly represented in this entry derails that idea, I flip to the last chapter. "Oh _**shit**_."

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, feeling mortified, Samuel's gopher files the file in the correct cabinet.<p>

* * *

><p>As soon as the file drawer closes, the filing system grinds to a halt for a moment that could be measured in both millennia and in fractions of a nanosecond, before it begins the mammoth task of making all the changes defined by the relocation of the files in question. The system tracks back to find the original change in the filing system to determine the changes necessary.<p>

Along the way, it finds two files that it cannot write too and cannot alter. Another infinite and unnoticeable pause follows. But having found the original divergence point and being unable to write to those two files, the system endeavours to find a solution.

It makes a choice; provide those missing memories to those particular files in the simplest manner possible, by resetting time to prior to the point of divergence and erasing everything that had happened since. While doing so it puts a copy of those memories into a buffer file, except for those two files, being unalterable they will retain those memories.

The system flags both files, _again_, but the flag system had never been properly implemented, so the flags went unnoticed as others have gone unremarked, for thousands of years.

While analysing the remaining files the system finds several files, linked to the changed ones, which no longer serve a purpose, these files vanish as if they had never been.

Simultaneously, Samuel, his office and his gopher cease to exist, the file Samuel had been holding floats for a moment, supported by nothing in a vacuum of infinite possibilities before falling through space–

* * *

><p>–to land with a thump on a supervisor's desk. The Angel in question, Philaniel, jerks in surprise, glances at the category before walking it to the correct cabinet. He opens it, Bruce Almighty Style. Drops the file in and lets the cabinet close. The file system calculates for an infinite moment before returning an OUT_OF_BOUNDS _EXCEPTION_ERROR. And the universe ends in that instant.<p>

_The End_

* * *

><p>Oi! Who left that file out?<p>

"Wasn't me. I still need to _finish_ my story; it's going to take _forever_ at this rate."

There is a time limit you know.

"Huh?"

You're not going to live forever.

"Oh, _right_. So no, it wasn't me and I don't know _what_ it _was_ doing _there_."

"Sorry, that was me. It was meant to be a humorous moment; I just didn't expect the Filling system to do what it did. Forgive me?"

"It erased _everything_, even _itself_. Now _that's_ commitment."

I'll Fix it, just this once. Don't let it happen again.

* * *

><p>–to land with a thump on a supervisor's desk. The Angel in question, Philaniel, jerks in surprise, glances at the category before– Pausing. Adjusting the position of his glasses he thinks to himself, <em>I'll let the file clerk deal with it when he gets back.<em> A slip of paper and a paper-clip is retrieved his drawer, a name _Rumisiel_ is written upon the slip of paper. He attaches the paper to the file, before dropping it in his out tray for Rumisiel to deal with when he returns.

* * *

><p>A chuckle reverberates through the universe, unheard.<p>

Sometimes you just need to give people a _little_ nudge.

* * *

><p><span><em>Cliff<em>

When I arrived at the club to find Philip passed out at his usual table, my first thought was: _Typical_. My second was to wonder if he had _anything_ that was worthwhile in his life now. I hadn't seen him crack a smile since the night his partner had gone off with his latest boy de jour, I had commiserated but he was beginning to lose himself in the bottom of a bottle. No matter how much commiserating that I had done with him, I wasn't happy with him just giving up on his life.

Turning on the TV above the bar, and tuning it to the local news affiliate; I begin to finish off the tidying that went undone the night before, thinking all the while. Mopping, wiping down tables, rearranging the bottles behind the counter.

_He needs a swift kick up the backside. And some home-truths, maybe that'll shake him out of this rut._

I stop, sigh and walk over to him; the haze of alcohol he exudes would make an alcoholic drunk, just by osmosis. "Phil." I shake him, he groans but doesn't move. I lean in towards his ear. "Philip. PHIL GET YOUR LAZY DRUNK ASS UP!"

His head snaps up, his bleary eyes not quite focusing on me, "Cliff? That you?" he slurs.

"It's time."

"Time for wha?"

"For you to get _up_, _off_ your _drunken_ ass and do _something_ with yourself. Get your head straight, smarten up and find yourself someone new, 'cuz you ain't gonna attract no one with the way you _look_, or _smell_, at the moment."

* * *

><p><span><em>Angie &amp; Penny<em>

Penny was just pulling into a service station just as the car's engine gave a groan, let a gout of steam out from under the bonnet and finally coughed its last.

I had been wincing for so long; it felt like my face was stuck that way, "Well that's that. Why on _earth_ did you choose to keep this heap of junk, which occasionally _masquerades_ as a car, anyway? Penny?"

Her glare was directed a little at me, but mostly at the car, "When you swaned off to join the Army, _this_ was one of the only things you had given me. I don't throw away gifts, I like… _liked_ it, so I didn't want to let it go."

I winced again, _Stubborn as a mule_. Even the realization that I was most important person to Penny didn't manage to iron out _all_ of the problems that meshing two personalities could create. _And to keep this hunk of junk, just 'cos it _used_ to be mine._

_We might __**someday**__ set out to spend the rest of our lives, __**together**__._

_You know… actually that feels, just_ _**right**_.

* * *

><p>Noticing that Angie was deep in thought, an old thought ran through its well-worn groove. <em>She gets so preoccupied that she forgets everything else.<em> I let old memories run through my head for a moment, before pinching Angie's arm.

"_Ouch_. What was _that_ for?"

"To get your attention." I smile. "Want to help me by giving your expert opinion on the road-worthiness of cars?"

"On this heap of junk?"

I snort, "Even _you_ couldn't resuscitate this without any tools. No I want your opinion on a replacement car." _I Love you, I want you to be __**mine**__, __**forever**_.

_Not __**yet**__, __**soon**_. _I'll keep hold of the ring until __**then**__._

"Oh." There's a rattle to the side as a young man opens up the shutters of the service station.

I climb out of the car, "Excuse me?" He turns, his name tag reads _Cole_. "Could you tell me and my friend how to get to the nearest car lot?"

* * *

><p><span><em>Sarah<em>

Charlotte was _still_ droning on, "…was still living in dorms when I got out, I wanted a relationship, so I went to live with him, but I was so afraid to lose my oldest friend and supporter. Anyway, I got the relationship. We were, well, lovers. The problem was that I didn't end up just dating _him_; I ended up dating his _fiancée_ as well. Having sex with _both_ of them, while wearing a pink, a red and a puce doily; all without telling _either_ of them, about my relationship with their kettle; until it… became a _threesome_, or was it a_ dodecahedra-some_. Of course it all fell apart _eventually_, so I left.

"Luckily by then Sarah was in her second year, so I moved in with you two, and started having wild monkey sex with every guy or girl who knocked on the door. Except Alex, we just did the ferret dance, because I am _not_ speaking to Alex right now. The problem is, that I'm enjoying being with all the girls a _little_ more than I'm enjoying being with the purple lord of light! Trouble is I'm not sure what it all means!" _You're not the only one who's confused._

Becky smiled like a cat with the cream, "What that means is that _you're_ like _me_," and she started making out with Charlotte, while wearing a trio of leopard print doilies, while hanging from a chandelier made of chips.

I just put my head in my hands and thought to myself: _God, I need a drink. Or brain __**bleach**__ for __**fucks**__ sake. I do not need to __**see**_; I glance up to see that _yes,_ _they are_; _**them**_ _going at it, like a pair of randy ferrets_.

A hand lands on my shoulder, there's a moment of disorientation as go from having my head in my hands to reclining on a chair with my head so far back, that I've now got a crick in it.

The man whose hand is on my shoulder, whose upside down to my perspective, incidentally, looks weirdly foreshortened from my position but has dark-hair and is looking rather dapper in a suit with a small pin on his jacket, the pin has two overlapping A's on it. In his other hand is an MP3 player, the cord for the headphones running up inside his jacket and hangs down from one ear. He gives me an easy smile, "I thought you might like to be woken up before _too_ many people noticed you're snoring."

I twist in my chair, the reflexive reply out before I've even thought it through, "I do _not_ snore." He's tall.

"It was very _cute_ snoring." _Yummy._ I've gone pink, I must have. I feel like someone's plugged me in and turned all the lights on to full brightness. "I'm Jaime Masterton, here to help run a meeting."

"Sarah Connerly."

* * *

><p><span><em>RPG<em>

"Somehow I _knew_ this would happen." The convention space is packed out with tables of displays and people. Everything from Aztecs to Zulus is represented, in either weaponry, items or in costumes.

"What?"

"Jordan, Greg and Craig." I nod towards their grouping, they haven't managed to notice me _yet_, but that won't last for long, Davis is far too noticeable and recognisable in his getup. "All the people that _hate_ me the most."

Davis gives them a glare; nobody messes with Davis, _no one_. His current fragility notwithstanding he's smart, strong, fast and respected. And while he does have blind spots in his defences, most don't get close enough to notice them, or to figure out how to take advantage of them. "…It could be _worse_."

I just look at him, he _knows_ that I don't want _anything_ to do with those assholes, add to that, "…Sam _isn't_ here."

Davis looks wildly uncomfortable for a moment, before launching into a pat answer. "She'll be here. She wouldn't pass this up for _anything_." Davis paused, then muttered, "…I _still_ don't get it."

_Obviously he didn't expect me to hear __**that**__._ "Huh?"

If anything he looks like he's completely out of his depth. He seizes on an answer and runs with it, with the desperation of a man drowning. "Sam's _happy_ running around at a convention like this, in _anything_ that takes her _fancy_; but won't then go to a _larger_ convention, where we might avoid _them_."

"The reverse is true." He gives me a blank look. I smile, blandly. "At a larger con, they're more likely to attend, but at the smaller ones they're less likely to attend and so reduces our chances of bumping into them."

"Didn't work."

"No. Rarely does." They've noticed and are now glaring at us, _no_, they're glaring at _me_. They start walking in our general direction. "Think they'll try and start something now?"

"They'd be _stupid_ to even _try_."

"Shockingly, I've never thought that intelligence was something they were familiar with, or even on speaking terms with." Davis snorts out a laugh, and then breaks down in giggles. He's wiping his eyes from laughing. _It wasn't __**that**__ funny_.

He gasps out, "As represented by _you_ and _me_." _I swear Davis's sense of humour hasn't got __**any**__ filter or meter_.

* * *

><p>After slinging insults and making demands, Craig, Jordan and Greg make a bet; if they can beat us in one of the mêlées we leave and never show our face at any con ever again. <em>They have the advantage in numbers, but once Sam gets here they're stuffed.<em> _But they must know our reputation, so how in the hell do they expect to beat us? _Davis and I accept, with reservations, with the same stipulation on attendance at future cons. Then Greg throws a wrinkle into the mix, in that the winner of the contest also gets Sam. I demand that Sam gets the ability to veto that. He says no.

I ask him, 'Where the fuck did you grow up, the dark ages? Where women didn't even get a _choice_.'

Davis says, 'The new condition is a deal-breaker, so we can't be expected to follow through, even if you win.'

Jordan and Craig discuss with Greg, just out of easy earshot. They come to an agreement, Sam isn't part of the prize, but can't take part either.

Davis says, 'Fine, but _you_ organise it, let us know where we are in the combat order.'

And finally they leave to arrange it with the organisers.

* * *

><p>"I'm guessing they have a plan Maestro." <em>Duh!<em>

"The question is: what?"

"You'll figure it out."

"It was probably to do with Sam."

"Huh?"

"They've forced us to work alone, without our team-mate, all to protect her from them and their demands."

"Oh, are they that smart to think that up?"

"Probably not; more likely that it's a happy coincidence for them that they were able to force us to act against our usual methodology."

"…Do you have a plan to counter them?"

"Depends."

"On _what?_"

"Whether we're _offence_ or _defence_."

"Oh."

* * *

><p>Defence would be easy, relatively speaking. We'd go back-to-back and I'd try to hold out defensively against the obvious ganging up that would happen. Davis would 'finish' his opponent and then take one of mine, however this all presupposed that I could hold out against <em>two<em> relatively _skilled_ and _highly_ motivated opponents long enough for Davis to 'finish' his. In this, my choice of weaponry would be an asset, most _preferred_ a sword and shield arrangement, I was one of the few who wielded dual swords and was good with them.

Davis had made them for me when I was nineteen, four years after I joined the scene; he usually made an 'updated' version every year and 'gifted' it to me. The design hadn't changed _significantly_, but the materials _had._ The design deliberately didn't have an edge to it, to make them suitable for mêlée rules; after they were 'retired' Davis ground an edge onto them for display purposes, but I had used _near_ identical blades for almost six years now.

It annoyed many that while I took the role of a 'scout' or 'ranger'; I could _still_ whip their asses in single combat. It was one of the reasons that I didn't wear _any_ armour, except what was forced on me by the rules; it allowed me more flexibility and speed than the equivalent. However, it usually meant that I came away from a con wearing a large number of bruises, even with Davis' impact absorbing bodysuit.

Offence would be harder, if I had any faith in my opponent's intelligence, this is what I'd prepare for, although the organisers might equally think that it would be too hard and thus make us the defensive side… _Damn. No way to predict which way it'll go._

In an offensive manoeuvre, Davis would lead the charge and I would watch his back for counter attacks until the number of combatants reached parity. …Which would suck for Davis …and me, because if Davis was taken out early on, we'd be stuffed.

Permanently.

* * *

><p>Sam hasn't replied to any of my messages regarding what's been happening. I know she said that she'd be incommunicado until she got here, but it would be nice to get a confirmation of receipt. It worries me, I know she can take care of herself, but it doesn't stop me being concerned about all the other things that <em>could<em> happen.

* * *

><p>The bell goes and we're off. Me and Davis on defence (the organisers decided it would be unfair otherwise); Craig, Greg and Jordan on offence. We have a set of wooden 'castle walls' that we're supposed to use for defensive purposes; they would be useful except for the fact we don't have enough people to defend them. I'm wearing a paint-ball helmet, shin, knee and elbow pads. The helmet is part of the organiser's equipment and smells of hair gel and sweat, the padding is my own. I'm not wearing the sheaths for my swords, due to the extra weight and impedance, but the swords are out and in my hands. I've used and trained with them, and similar blades, for so long they feel like an extension of my arm. The slim graceful curves with the brutal cross-pieces on the hilts, they aren't shiny like most, instead being blackened and dulled, to reduce reflections in the larger events.<p>

Waiting for any of them to come around either of the sides of the 'walls' feels like it's taking forever. They don't have any formal martial arts training, but you can learn a lot from experience, even if the RPG circuit is a brutal way to earn it.

Davis bellows that "two, no three of them" are coming around his side. I immediately turn to stay with him, as he advances towards them. The wall is on his left so I swing right and ready myself to face whoever decided to flank Davis. Two swing wide of Davis to face-off against me; I recognise them from behind their helmets: Craig and Greg.

_Craig's a __**left**__-hander so he'll swing even __**further**__ to my right, to attempt a flanking manoeuvre, Gregg will come __**straight at me**__ and hope the distraction of Craig will allow him to __**force**__ his way past my defences._

_Yeah, __**right**__. Like I'll let __**you**__ decide how __**I'm**__ going to fight._

I lunge forward sweeping a diagonal with my feet, blade raised in my right hand cutting upwards towards Craig's helmet. The _clang_ of impact tells me that he's out. The observers call out that Craig is out of the fight; a cheer goes up from the crowd of watchers in the temporary, and rather crude, wooden stands; but by then I'm fully engaged with the better opponent.

Greg's one of the few who's got every skill you need in a mêlée, he's a quick thinker, he moves fast, has wickedly fast responses and he's got the strength to take and give punishing blows; bar one that is, he doesn't watch his footwork enough, and when he does, he loses his situational awareness.

_Not that he __**needs**__ it much, under the circumstances_.

I may have taken out his partner with my first blow, but since then I'd been on the defensive, absorbing blow after blow from his sword with each of my own and avoiding being bowled over by his shield, which he was using as a crude battering ram. The sounds of combat from Davis were escalating, until the call went out.

Greg quickly pulled back, to see if he's got reinforcements or if he'll be fighting on two fronts.

He's standing close to where Craig is lying down, where he 'fell' after his 'death'.

I lunge.

There's no planning, just instinct.

I force him to defend for the first time, backing him up, one step, and a second.

_One more…_

He steps on Craig's arm, the yowl from Craig, combined with him moving his arm causes Greg to lose his footing; he grounds his sword, point first, as he tries to regain his balance.

I don't give him the time.

My left blade clangs down on his head, rattling his helmet, before the call even goes up I'm spinning to guard myself from whoever won out of Jordan and Davis's fight.

Davis is just standing there, watching me, looking amused. "What took you so long?"

* * *

><p>I'm sat on a bench wiping off my face, those helmets have lousy ventilation, doesn't matter how cold it is, you'll still sweat. Oddly though it's the only place I am sweating, Davis has finally cracked the built-in cooling in the suits, now if only he markets them as part of an armed forces package…<p>

Greg, unsurprisingly, wanted a rematch, 'best of three'. Davis's reply was, "Only if it's on _our_ terms." Craig and Jordan dragged Gregg off before he could promise us the world. I'd almost be happy to settle for them never bothering us, or Sam, ever again.

"I think you've finally perfected the suits."

"Really? Cool!"

"Literally." Davis's laugh attracts some attention, but I don't really care at the moment. "How much trouble was Jordan?"

"He's got the skills and the instincts… just not the courage required to make a success of it."

"And lousy team-mates."

"That too." I pull me phone from my bag. "Nothing from Sam yet?"

"No. I'm starting to…"

"I wouldn't worry."

"It's nearly an hour after she said that she'd get here by."

"I _still_ wouldn't worry." His emphasis finally catches my attention.

"What do you know that I don't?"

"Um…"

"_Davis_…"

"It's not _confirmed_ yet, so Sam _asked_ me to keep it a _secret_ until she's _sure_."

"Keep _what_ a secret?" He just _looks_ at me. One of the things I learn about my brother early on is that he keeps his word; if he shakes on it, he'll never break it. "_Fine_. Do you know where she is?"

"Confirming it." I growl, Davis is more than smart enough to know exactly how much info he can give me without me figuring it out.

"Mike! Davis!" Some call me Maestro because of my skills with a computer; others (starting with Davis) call me that because of my tactical skills and ability to strategise. Only three people call me by my given name, my parents and Sam.

I turn and look, Sam's walking towards us and she's out of costume, which is unusual for her. Usually she's wearing armour and getting involved, if not she's wearing some pastiche creation that might suit a princess, today however she's wearing jeans, sandals and a faded blue t-shirt, her curly strawberry blond hair, which just last week was at her elbows, is now cropped shorter, framing her face.

Sometimes her beauty just hits me like a wrecking ball, today with her blinding smile was one of those times.

Sam takes my hands in hers, it's only when she does that I can tell the difference in our sizes, me the tall string-bean, her the petite beauty. "Mike, I have news for you." Davis grins. "You're going to be a father."

* * *

><p><span><em>Ash<em>

The car won't turn. Without power the power assist steering has either died or has locked up. _Which isn't good, since I can already __**see**__ a major obstacle._ Engine breaking isn't slowing us fast enough.

_This isn't right; we should be slowing down a __**lot**__ faster than–_

I down-shift again, it's in second, and all I can feel is the vibration as the engine moves, absorbing the kinetic energy in its rotations and–

Saeko says something; I don't notice what she says. Missi replies, Saeko says something back and then Missi is making a sound that doesn't quite register, she's slowly pulling back from her examination of the wires and cables that she had been examining.

"Turn, _damn_ _**you**_!" Still wrestling with the steering wheel, I feel it give, just a little, just before we hit the sign for Tempest High School. It's the smallest motion, but it's enough; enough to put us far over that the impact will be non-lethal. At least, I _hope_ so.

The impact propels me forward, I feel the seatbelt go taught and then give. I impact the steering wheel full force and something pops in my chest. Then my head hits the instrumentation and–

…then there was nothing. An empty space with…

…_nothing_.

I don't know how long I was there before I started to perceive something in the darkness. No, not darkness, it was the absence of light and the absence of anything that it could have _even_ illuminated.

…a clanking and clinking reached my ears. It sounded a lot like tightened chains being moved across a surface. Then it stopped. There was a wobble as if… as if a curtain was being drawn back… and then it froze, like a pool of water and all its reflections, flash-frozen into perfectly clear ice.

It was… _weird_.

If this is what came after death… _I want a refund!_

I tried to shout, scream make any sort of noise and nothing happened. And then everything _moved_.

–_**thing**__ of what he's said since he started talking_. I jerk to attention, the trailing thought, _which I remember_, echoes away to nothing. I'm back in class. I feel a lot like I've just raced Kate again. My heart is pounding, and I feel ill and shaky. A teacher is nattering away. _…before he was sending me off to the Principal for… drifting in class? No, because the principal called for me… I have __**no **__**idea**__ what has just happened._

"Miss Upton."

I jerk, my eyes meet his, "Err yes, Sir?"

"Are you all right, Miss Upton? Do you need to see the school nurse?"

"No sir, I'll… I'll be _fine_, sir." _Yeah, Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional, just __**F.I.N.E**__._

_Just _**hold **_**on**__. Emily __**will**__ have some sort of explanation._

* * *

><p>The day was dragging a lot worse than usual, by the time gym usually rolled round, normally I would be in need of a quick bit of running around to give me a boost. Today though, it was my personal hell. I was exhausted, and all I'd really done was sit around and try <em>not<em> to freak out.

I was doing all right on that score. At least I _hadn't_ run down the halls screaming. _Yet_.

"I can't believe you're still changing over there. You've got guts, Ash."

"Huh?" _Oh, Eponine._ I turn to look. "What's wrong with here?"

"You didn't hear?" _Hear what?_ "The walls don't go up through the drop ceiling." She points to the ceiling. _So–?_ "Some of the boys figured it out and apparently have been going up there from their locker room and coming across to peep."

…

…

…

_Fuck!_

* * *

><p>"Emily, we <em>need<em> to talk." My lunch bag hits the table. I plant myself at a seat. Emily looks as confused as I feel.

"About the… zombies?"

"_Yes_… but, um, _later_, I heard, _today_, that the guys have been peeping into the locker room, practically right over where I change. Had you heard about it?"

Emily's fork has frozen halfway to her mouth. "No, I hadn't heard about it either. That's creepy."

"I keep trying to tell myself I shouldn't care. I mean they got suspended and all, and I'm a guy, so what should it matter to me? Heck, it used to practically be a fantasy of mine."

"I'm just glad my locker is on the other side of the locker room."

"You know what's almost worse though? For just a minute there, when I was sitting there feeling violated, I got the most distinct sense of boys as this 'other', like 'us against them'." Emily's fork slowly lowers until it hits her plate. "Given where I come from and where I want to be going that's a worse feeling than the embarrassment."

"…Oh crap."

"I know. Weird, isn't it?"

"No, I meant 'Oh, crap, it looks like Missi is on her way over here'. Apparently it's 'dress like a whore day' and no one told me."

I look over. _I don't see it._ "Oh, be nice. You're just being catty."

"Hey, guys!" Missi puts her tray down. "Have I got a happy surprise for you!" She crowds me leaning over the table. "**Are you busy after school?**"

"Uh… I suppose not…"

She punches the air, "_**Score!**_** Me neither! We can **_**TOTALLY**_** go shopping for dresses for Katie's wedding!**"

Emily's face is as blank as I feel. _W-wedding … how could I forget?_ "'Katie'? Does she even know you call her that?"

"I… Uh… We…" I lean towards Emily and whisper, "SAVE ME!"

"Anyway, we can't go." _Thank you, Emily!_ "I'm sure Kate has styles and colours in mind and we can't do anything until we know what those are." _Uh… not what I had in mind._

"That's it! That's the surprise!" Missi has pulled a handwritten set of notes, from somewhere, I didn't see where… _and I don't wanna know!_ "I stopped by her house last night and got _ALL_ the information we need!"

"You…" _have completely ruined my– wait,_ _shit. You–_ "Stopped by her _house?_" _and you aren't __**dead**__?_ "Are you _insane?_"

"Yeah. We totally hung out. We're pals now."

"Pals, huh? Did you suggest maybe _YOU_ being the maid of honour?" _That would get me out of it._

"No _way_. She's _totally_ set on you." _Shit_. "She says you're, like, _special_ or some such." _You have no idea._ "**Anyway, we're going, **_**right**_**? **_**RIGHT**_**?**"

I look at Emily; I know I have a hopeless expression on my face. Her expression promises me that we will talk about the zombies later.

* * *

><p>As I'm leaving the cafeteria, I bump into a guy. When I see his face I blurt out his name. "Graham." His surprise at my knowing it is obvious. All I can think of is to offer him some help, it might stop him from thinking too much about <em>how<em> I know his name. "Do you want a hand in buying you're first car when you turn sixteen? Just advice and negotiating prowess of course."

"Well… I suppose. But why help _me_, I mean, _come on_, you're the _King_."

"To repay a debt to someone I knew, very briefly."

"But _you_ don't owe _me_."

"I…" _do owe you, I owe you for helping keep Emily safe, for protecting others at the cost of your own life._ "…can't pay _him_ back, so I'm paying it forward."

"Well, okay. See you sometime in February?" He offers me his hand.

"Cool." I shake it; it's a firm dry grip without being too tight. "Ash Upton, by the way."

He smiles, "But of course, Graham Rhydian."

* * *

><p><span><em>Emily<em>

During a few spare minutes between classes, I look up 'Saeko' and 'Tokonosu City', in the computer classroom. _They aren't there. No results, at least nothing __**useful**__. What does that mean? Did we imagine it?_

_We need to talk about this._

_Damn you Missi. Any other day and this would be almost fun, torturing Ash with wearing dresses. __**Now**__ though… I'm as stuck as she is. After?_

_It'll have to do. Did Ash die?_

_How much does she remember? _

_We'll have to compare notes._

"Miss McArthur? I didn't know you had a class with me."

"Oh, sorry sir. I don't. I was just looking something up."

"The library is a better place to look things up Miss McArthur."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>"This is a disaster…" Ash was sat, on a bench in the dressing room of 'Oh My Dress Shop!', looking thoroughly depressed.<p>

"Hey, you agreed to it."

"You weren't much help, you know." _Well, yes but I couldn't exactly say, 'Missi, me and Ash need to go and discuss the __**zombie apocalypse**__. The one that only we seem to remember." She'd have me __**committed**__…_

"I _tried_. Let's face it though, you were trying to get a girl to argue _against_ a shopping trip. I mean where's the incentive?"

"Is this enough incentive?" I look in the way Ash is pointing, at Missi, who's in just a pair of panties and a bra. _Hell, that's enough incentive for me __**never**__ to come shopping again. Not that I'll ever __**admit**__ to that… I enjoy torturing you with shopping __**too much**__._

* * *

><p>"Uh, yeah. You're not familiar with the whole maid of honour thing, are you?"<p>

"No, I'm not. Funny, but the possibility never really crossed my mind." _Oh, boy… You're in for some more shocks…_ "…I don't even _HAVE_ two hundred fifty dollars. Crap. I'm going to have to consider something I do _NOT_ want to do."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to have to call my mom in on this. It'll be torture, but it'll be free, and whatever she gives me will look less ridiculous than this."

"Good call. Let's get that horrid looking thing off of you."

"_Finally_ something we agree on. So, Ash have you come up with something for the bachelorette party yet?"

"The _what_?"

"We'll talk about it later. I don't want to put you into catatonic shock quite _yet_." Turning away I mutter, "Especially when we still have _so_ much_ else_ to discuss."

* * *

><p>We were nearly to my house. Ash had driven me after checking with Rumi, we'd 'parked' where we could talk. Though we hadn't reduced the number of questions, only increased <em>them<em>. "…Okay, to summarise: we remember the zombies, you right up to when the car crashed–"

"I told Mr. Walker to check his in-car electrics in the parking lot."

"That might well save his life. And I remember right up until the bombs started dropping and the world wobbled, froze and then blurred back to this morning. You experienced something similar, but you were in a different space…" _and might well have been __**dead**_ "where you weren't aware of the bombs or Saeko dying. I haven't found out anything to confirm whether or not Saeko even exists beyond our memories…"

"And when I asked Rumi if anything weird happened, he gave me this stuff about an Archon being dead."

"Weird." _Might as well._ "So when are you calling your mom?"

"Tomorrow. _After_ I've had a bit of time to recover."


	8. Epilogue and Notes

**Epilogue**

_Ash_

"So… If you're taking it like this, how's Missi taking the whole incident?"

"You know, I haven't talked to her about it since after I dropped her off. I'll ask her when I see her in gym class tomorrow."

"What _I_ want to know is why it freaked you out so much."

"It reminded me of the time with the zombies."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember inside the cafeteria?" I felt Emily nod behind me, "Where we were attacking and… killing zombies?" A slower nod, "The two of them were both zombies that I finished off."

"Oh." She hugs me tightly.

"…We haven't yet figured out anything about why or how it happened."

"I'm not sure that we can." It's the barest murmur on the back of my neck. "The angels don't remember it… which is rather frightening when you think about it… and I think we only remember because our files were misfiled… so what can we do but cope?"

"Nothing I suppose."

Emily releases me, "Yeah… You'd better go. If my mom catches you in here when I'm supposed to be grounded…"

"Yeah, OK. …Emily?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"No, Ash, thank _you_. …Don't forget to check up on Missi."

I'm already halfway out of the window. "I won't."

* * *

><p><span><em>Emily<em>

_Many years later_

_Knowing the time when you __**need**__ to fight. Was __**that**__ the most important thing to come from the Misfile?_

_Before, I'd lacked the knowledge that there was _so_ much __**more**__ to life than acting out my Mom's shattered dreams._

_After a period of __**adjustment**__, of __**soul searching**__, I'd __**found**__ my path. __**Sometimes**__, it __**surprised**__ me._

_**Always**__, it provided a source of __**inspiration**__._

_After all, who could we talk about it with? Rumi was long gone, and with Ash having the harder row, needing every bit of support that, well, was available, why not make what had become such a major part of my life, my vocation as well?_

_Trauma psychology._

* * *

><p>"Doctor?" Thought derailed, I looked up at my secretary, "I'm headed off now. Is there anything else you need?" I smiled, <em>a steady wind to sail with, I have the star to steer by<em>.

"No, but thank you Jenny. Thanks for your work today."

"It's what you pay me for. I'll let your six-o'clock in on my way out."

"What would I do without you?"

A snort, "Write fewer books."

I chuckled, it was an old, pointed, joke, started by Mom of all people. I had yet to write a full book, lots of submissions to medical journals, pamphlets and other consultancy work that had provided help to others writing books, but I had yet to put pen to paper in that way.

I waved to Jenny as she passed my door on her way out. I jotted a quick post-it and affixed it to my monitor, a not-so-subtle reminder of where I need to start tomorrow. And begin to close my computer down. A thought occurs, instead of shutting down my browser, I open a tab to Google and type in a name, and hit '_I'm feeling lucky._'

A figure darkens my doorway, I don't need to look but I do anyway. _How could I have __**ever**__ considered you as __**just**__ a __**friend**__? I am the __**luckiest**__ person alive to have you. How do you describe love, the slow suffusing warmth of a fire? The blazing brightness of the sun? The beauty of the stars on a clear night? A volcano bubbling on the verge of eruption? Maybe __**all**__ of them._

"_Ash_."

* * *

><p>The browser silently loads a page, unnoticed by everyone, the computer hibernates from lack of use and the page goes unseen, a page to a wiki with a picture of a face that would have been familiar to both of those in the office. It would have answered a lot of their questions, but Emily forgot about it and the thought would never have occurred to Ash.<p>

Besides, they were rather too busy to care.

**_The End_**

* * *

><p><span><em>Authors Notes:<em>

Saeko and Rei: They are both from 'High-School of the dead'; there were a lot more characters from HSotD running around at one point, but again to compress and streamline they went, so honourable mentions go to Rika and Shizuka. And apologies to people who wanted Saeko to survive. She is however reset and can _now_ be found in her correct fictional universe, as she is now correctly filed (If you couldn't find them while I was writing this, I apologise unreservedly). Any mistakes in the characterising of Rei and Saeko are my own.

Rei meets a few people along the way (Cliff for one, William and Phillip) and a few others are mentioned in passing in other sections (like Mike Mogford) who are real people. Incidentally, sorry if your names are spelled wrong or if I got some facet of your personality wrong, as I've never met you and am going by Jin99's descriptions… Well I'll consider it remarkable if there is _anything_ recognisable.

Angie and Penny: Were originally aged-up versions of Ash and Emily (DON'T HIT ME!) however as I wasn't informed of this until later (much, _much_ later, as in 15 months later), I ran them in a different direction. I thought Angie was an Angelica expy for example (easy mistake to make), and strove to pull her character away from that while leaving enough to make her interesting. They stayed as part of this work primarily _because_ this fiction has a fairly _dark_ tone and I needed something within to provide a little light. I actually prefer their personal zombie infested ending than the one they eventually ended up with, sad huh?

Sarah and the 'Rainbow Girls' (Becky, Charlotte and Jaime [once called sad or Said]): This was originally guest written by someone else. They were original characters, as far as I can tell or at least they were. Rewrites have made them different from their original characterisation, so I'm calling them a joint effort. Originally all their sections were going to be removed to further streamline the story, as the intended purpose (showcasing their early successes against the early failures of the Misfile group) became superfluous. However I enjoyed writing from Sarah's point of view far too much, her dream sequence really cracks me up and it allowed me to run with some of the really weird things from Jin99's draft. Distorting sounds and finding ways of writing them that _almost_ make sense was equally fun. I did run out of things that she could do with a concussion though, _so_…

RPG: I haven't come up with a better way of describing these sections so my apologies for that first. Maestro is originally a wish-fulfilment self-insertion of Jin99 (no, his name is _not_ Mike); again different from how he was originally. Left in because it showcased some of my better action writing (and the rest couldn't afford to stay). Again some of the people here are real, my apologies for your characterisations (and deaths, and booting you in the nuts, no really, I am _very_ sorry, _please_ don't reciprocate), I worked with what I had.

The Misfile cast: I thinned it down a lot; I reduced some to cameos, but tried to stick with as small a group as I could manage. Again, any mistakes at characterising them are my own.

Also apologies for the self-insertion, I had a logical problem that needed someone who was afraid of heights, because anybody else would have gone out on the roof to avoid the zombies. I couldn't think of a Misfile character that fitted the bill, so… I asked myself "who do I know, _other_ than myself, who's afraid of heights?" …and ended up putting an age-appropriate version of myself in. Ghah. The last name is actually a nickname I was given, it's Welsh, and it means 'one who sacrifices', appropriate huh? And since it was September 2004, I decide to make the fictional version of me as realistic as possible, including: uncompleted surgeries, school record (which Emily could conceivably know), etc. Made me all _nostalgic_ for my youth, _not_.

The drink mixed by Cliff, is not the Corpse Reviver No.2; although it would have been hilarious if it was, it's a shade too alcoholic for just settling nerves. A cookie to the first one who figures out what the drink was.

* * *

><p><span><em>Technical Notes:<em>

The zombie infection (whatever it _actually_ happens to be) is treated here as a super-virus, this means that when the immune system detects it, the persons metabolism goes into overdrive. That then causes a rise in temperature.

The human body is good at retaining body heat; zombies, in this case, absorb and _detect_ heat, especially body heat. So their temperature drops to _near_ room temperature _quickly_.

Thermal Imaging takes a while to determine who is dead and who is not; body temperature falls into the death range _slowly_ as the _human_ body retains temperature fairly well; simply put, its thermodynamics.

A head injury, such as Saeko's can result in brain death, but the body can keep going for some time after such an injury occurs. In this case, Emily doesn't regain consciousness before Saeko passes on. So Saeko is still warm and shows up as alive (or close enough) on Thermal Imaging. Emily doesn't mention that Saeko's warm because she, like you, has no idea how long has passed since the impact. Suffice it to say there _is_ a body in the car, which has been there a _while_. Long enough to cool, _and_ be detected.

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